


The Mired Path

by Priceless



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Comics 1998)
Genre: Comic Canon, F/M, Future Fic, post season 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:00:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 35,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24320953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Priceless/pseuds/Priceless
Summary: Set post Season 12, Buffy and Spike haven't seen each other for three years. They meet up and join forces to rescue Angel and Illyria/Fred from the hell dimension.Reference to past comic seasons.
Relationships: Angel /Winifred "Fred" Burkle/Illyria (AtS), Spike (BtVS)/Other(s), Spike/Buffy Summers, Xander Harris/Dawn Summers
Comments: 61
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Massive thanks to my wonderful betas Stoney and TriBel. If you like anything in this fic, it's because of them. All mistakes are my own, because I can't stop re-writing.

Chapter 1

“I’m so happy for you Xan.” Buffy reached across the table and squeezed Xander’s hand. “It’s about time you made an honest woman of my little sister.”

“Not so little right now,” Xander chuckled. “I can’t believe my luck, finding two amazing women in my life who both wanted to marry me. It’s a miracle.” Buffy pictured Anya behind the counter of the Magic Box and agreed life could be strange. Xander put his hand over hers and a sheepish grin spread across his face, “Or is it another Rosenberg spell gone horribly wrong?”

“Or wonderfully right,” corrected Buffy.

“Are you taking my name in vain?” asked Willow, making her way back to the table. A heavily pregnant Dawn followed, turning sideways to avoid bumping into seated diners, murmuring apologies along the way.

“Xander wondered if you’d put a spell ...” Buffy got no further, as out the corner of her eye she glimpsed someone passing the restaurant window. The figure had white blonde hair and was dressed all in black. He walked too quickly for her to see his face, but she immediately recognised the swagger in his step. Her breath caught in her throat and her body tensed, she half rose from her chair ready to follow him but he’d already vanished.

“. . . so really no need for a spell,” Dawn said as she patted her expanding belly. Buffy tentatively joined in the laughter that followed, though she had no idea what had been said. She was relieved the others hadn’t noticed how distracted she’d become, unable to think of anything but Spike, sure it was him she’d seen through the window. He was back in the city and must be looking for her, had he followed her, did he know she was in this restaurant, had he expected her to follow him?

After some light-hearted discussion Xander paid the bill. Buffy had offered to pay, as a gift to the happy couple, but Xander wouldn’t hear of it. “Let me treat the ladies in my life. I’m newly engaged and feeling expansive.” Buffy suspected it was more the wine than the engagement that made Xander so extravagant.

They went out into the warm April night. Dawn and Xander holding hands and walking a little ahead while Buffy linked her arm through Willows and the two women strolled behind, giving the couple their space. Buffy scanned the streets as they walked.

“How long are you staying?” Willow asked, skipping a little, so they were walking in step.

Buffy had planned on returning to Cleveland the following day, but that was impossible now. Logically she knew there must be hundreds of men with dyed white hair in San Francisco, it probably wasn’t him and she shouldn’t get her hopes up, but still she knew she wouldn’t leave. She had a coffee shop job to get back to, and her nightly patrols, but there were other slayers who would patrol the city in her absence, and she could easily pick up another waitressing job.

“I might stay a day or two,” Buffy replied cautiously, wanting to keep her sighting of Spike to herself for the time being. When he had left three years ago, she’d been desperate to find him and had begged Will to do a location spell, but she’d refused, saying Spike had made the choice to leave and they had to respect that. Buffy thought she’d never forgive Willow for being so cruel. One of the reasons she’d decided to move to Cleveland was to put some distance between herself and the witch.

Of course, in time she had forgiven her friend. Willow was easy to forgive. She’d sent funny little care-packages to Cleveland when Buffy had first moved; homemade cards, bars of her favourite chocolate, warm socks she’d knitted herself, long letters full of funny stories about life back in San Fran, all things meant to charm, and they did.

Yet Buffy still felt a lingering resentment and she admonished herself for being a bad friend who held grudges. Changing the subject, she asked with excessive cheer “What’s the news with you anyway Will? Any engagements in your future I should know about?”

“Well . . .,’ Willow began, a broad smile on her face. The two women giggled and gossiped and felt like kids again, wandering home from the Bronze on a Friday night.

That evening, after she’d walked Willow home and rain-checked a late-night girly chat, Buffy returned to the restaurant. It was dark now, as were most of the storefronts on the street. She walked slowly around the block, increasingly disappointed that she couldn’t find her vampire.

She wasn’t completely disheartened though, because she definitely felt something. A change in the air current, a lingering scent of cigarettes, boots scraping on metal. “Dammit Spike,” she cursed, “show yourself.” She studied the darkened rooftops, but by then the air had calmed and she knew he’d gone.

She took her cell from her bag and tapped a message; ‘Hi Chrissie. Staying longer than expected. Nothing to worry about. Can you pick up my patrols and tell Becky I won’t be in work this week…’ She hesitated, deleted the last few words and typed ‘… tell Becky I won’t be back. Speak soon Buffy x’

Dawn was happy to have her sister back. They hadn’t seen much of each other in the last few years, just a few flying visits for Christmas and birthdays, so they spent the next few days getting reacquainted. They talked about old times in Sunnydale and newer times in Cleveland, shopped online for new clothes, lunched at nearby cafes, Buffy practised her broadsword technique in Xander’s workshop while Dawn dealt with Council business in her office and then together, they’d pick Joycie up from school. Buffy was pleased that she and her niece had developed a keen friendship over the last three days.

“Red is my favourite colour,” Joy said, and to make her point, she held up a red crayon and waved it in Buffy’s face.

“C’mon Jellybean,” Xander swept his daughter into his arms. “Time for bath and bed.” He aeroplaned her around the room and swooped her down to her mother lying on the couch. Dawn reached up, took the child’s face in her hands and covered her in noisy little kisses, making her giggle with delight.

Buffy lifted Dawn’s legs, dropped down on the couch and placed her sister’s legs across her own. Without even thinking, she began to massage Dawn’s feet.

“Your child wears me out,” she complained.

“You and me both,” Dawn replied. “I think that’s what four-year olds are meant to do. Was I so energetic at that age?”

“Oh, so much worse. You were like a baby D’Ieven demon. I begged mom to take you back, but for some reason she liked you.” Buffy laughed and received a kick for her impertinence.

“Blame those monks,” Dawn said. “Where they got their information about four-year olds is beyond me.”

The sisters sat in companionable silence. Dawn closed her eyes, enjoying her massage, her hand stroking her swollen belly.

Over the last three nights Buffy had patrolled, always returning to the restaurant where she’d first seen Spike, but she’d found nothing more to suggest he was in the city. Deflated she’d considered giving up and returning to Cleveland, thinking that perhaps she had wanted to see him so badly, she’d conjured him out of thin air. Deep down she knew that wasn’t true but this continual searching but finding nothing had started to wear her down.

Dawn had seen how subdued Buffy had become and asked gently, “Penny for them.”

Buffy wasn’t surprised by Dawn’s ability to read her so well. She’d grown from a petulant teen into a sympathetic and intelligent woman. She worked as a Translator of Demon Texts for the Watchers’ Council, for which she was highly respected and very well compensated. She had become a major part of Council operations, occasionally asked to open or close portals, tutor new watchers or slayers who had a gift for languages, she also counselled those who sometimes found the work overwhelming and she did everything with an intelligence and grace Buffy could only dream of, often thinking that her sister had inherited all their mom’s best qualities.

Dawn deserved some explanation as to why she was so distracted and Buffy needed to unburden herself to someone, so bracing herself, not sure of Dawn’s reaction, she said “I saw Spike.”

“What? Oh my God, I knew you two would get back together!” Buffy bit her lip, not wanting to spoil her sister’s happiness. “You know I’ve asked Watchers and Slayers to keep a lookout for him over the years. I even asked Andrew to put a special ‘Spike Search Team’ on it, but he said ‘the Council didn’t have enough resources to waste on such things’.” She mimicked his voice so well Buffy couldn’t help but laugh. “The pompous oaf,” was Dawn’s contemptuous judgement on Andrew.

Buffy could never tell if Dawn was Andrew’s superior, or he hers. Dawn would often tell her about inter-office battles between their two departments and Buffy thought they must drive poor Giles mad with their squabbling.

Dawn’s face became red and pinched and she said quietly “I was sure he wasn’t dead.”

“Oh sweetie,” Buffy murmured as she stroked Dawn’s arm, trying to comfort her. In her eighth month of pregnancy, she had become tired and weepy, moved to emotional outbursts by the smallest of things. Buffy marvelled at how her sister, the bringer of life into the world, could care so deeply for one of the undead. But then she always did have the capacity to see Spike as more a man than a vampire.

“I knew he couldn’t be really dead, dusted dead,” Dawn explained through her tears. “Not because I’d feel it, or anything like that, but because it’s Spike and someone would let us know. He killed two slayers when the world wasn’t full of them and he fell in love with you and fought to get a soul. He’s special, anyone who met him would see that. He’s special and if he was dust, we’d soon find out.” She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and with growing excitement said “Buffy, he’s not dust, he’s here.”

Buffy wrapped her arms around her sister’s shoulders. Even though Dawn had never blamed her for what had happened, Buffy felt overwhelmed with guilt. Spike had vanished from their lives because of her, because she’d wanted space or freedom or something so indefinable, she couldn’t even name it now. When he’d left, she’d been so absorbed in her own anger and grief, she’d failed to notice how his leaving had affected everyone else.

“I’m sorry Dawnie, so sorry.” She gulped back her own tears, took Dawn’s hands in hers and held them tightly.

That evening, more determined than ever, she patrolled the city long into the night, going from street to street, alley to alley. She dusted two vamps who thought they’d try their luck but they were quick kills, small disturbances in her hunt for bigger prey. Tired and frustrated, she was stood in a now familiar alley when she heard the scrape of boots, felt the air cool and gooseflesh rise on her arms.


	2. Chapter 2

She thought him radiant as he stood in the shimmer of a nearby streetlight. It was such a perfect placement for his body, she couldn’t turn her eyes away, not caring that he would think her parched for the sight of him.

He no longer wore his duster, but a short black jacket that emphasised the broadness of his shoulders and narrowness of hip. Her eyes were drawn to the softness of his mouth. His lips slightly parted as he lit a cigarette and took a drag. He glanced towards her, a sweep of billowing smoke drifting between them.

He greeted her with a nod, “You out alone tonight?” He looked beyond her into the shadows, as though expecting someone else to emerge from the darkness.

“Lone wolfing it,” she confirmed, feeling more rabbit than wolf. His closeness made her skin prickle with anticipation. 

“No Angel?” he asked as he took another glance at her, threw down his half-smoked cigarette and extinguished it with the toe of his heavy black boot. “He’s not here to help with the nasties?”

Unsettled by his question she hesitated to answer. Did Spike believe that Angel was still part of her life and they spent their evenings patrolling together? 

“Where is the wanker then?” he asked with familiar attitude. Met by silence, eyes narrowed, he repeated, “Buffy, where is Angel?”

She realised with a sinking heart, that Spike hadn’t been looking for her at all. She was just an obstacle in his way, holding hostage the information he needed to find Angel. Not wanting to appear as hurt as she felt, she dug her hands into her pockets and said accusingly, “If you’d been here, you’d know where he was.” She felt even more disheartened when Spike moved further into the shadows, as though deliberately keeping his distance from her.

“Christ Slayer, you don’t make it easy.” He lit another cigarette. The flare of the lighter illuminated the scar above his eye, the curl of his lashes and the curve of his mouth. The undead shouldn’t be so pretty she thought, nor should they expect a Slayer to make their un-life easy. 

Taking a long drag, he tilted his head the way he invariably did when focusing solely on her. Feeling strangely weak under his serious gaze, she reminded herself that she was not the swooning kind, no matter how vulnerable she felt. His eyes never left her face and she hoped he was contemplating his words carefully.

“We broke up Buffy,” he said, as if that justified anything. “What was I meant to do?”

You were meant to keep loving me Buffy wanted to shout, though she knew how selfish she’d have sounded. At first, he’d stayed by her side and helped her as he always had. She’d presumed he’d stay forever, never imagined he’d ever leave. But they had begun to argue… She tried to remember actual conversations, but the past had become so jumbled with Dawn and Joy, Willow and the Centre and Giles making his plans and then Angel was at the door and they had to rush off and save the future... They had saved the future, for everyone except themselves.

“But still I couldn’t leave, not at first,” he said, pulling her from her reverie. “I still loved you of course. You’re not a habit easily broken Pet.” The shock of hearing that endearment after so long must have shown on her face, because he continued more gently. “It wasn’t just that. I could have lived with that, you know?”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, knowing he could love without expecting reciprocation. He hadn’t believed her the first time she told him she loved him but the second time… they had been up on the rooftop, celebrating a victory with the rest of the scoobies… it had been so easy and natural, no fanfare or fireworks, none of the trombones he’d once predicted… just acceptance of what they both already knew, that they loved each other… 

“But things changed and I couldn’t keep up,” he was saying. “Changed in ways I couldn’t get my head around. I always was a bit slow ‘eh?” Suddenly, as if to prove the opposite, he was on his toes like a boxer, circling her, making her turn and twist to keep sight of him. They hadn’t fought each other in many years, but she steeled herself, ready to block if he struck. She had grown to enjoy this unpredictable side of his nature, but in the dark of this alley after so long apart she started to feel hemmed in and claustrophobic. No longer cool and detached, he had become the wounded lover, too close for comfort and taking pleasure in hurting her.

“You joined the old bill, Buffy. Became one of the boys in blue,” he said scathingly. “Wearing a uniform and carrying a gun. You hated guns. And uniforms, you hated that Doublemeat uniform. Riding around in a cop car and eating doughnuts, how could I fit into that world…?”

“I like doughnuts,” she interrupted, desperate to throw him from that high horse he had galloped away on.

“And then there was Angel,” he said, deliberately ignoring her. “Brooding away in the bloody basement, like dry rot.” 

“You were jealous!” she bit back, stopping him in his tracks.

“I was not,” he snarled, hands curled into fists. 

They were both still now. So close, her fingertips buzzed with the thought of touching him. She wanted him to touch her, not caring if it were a blow or a caress. They stared at each other in the half-light and the air crackled between them. 

“I missed you.” she said, exasperated by his attitude and hoping he’d hear in her voice how deeply she’d felt his loss.

“Missed you first,” his bitter reply.

He took out his cigarettes and made to light another, changed his mind and stuffed the packet back into his pocket. “You left me, long before I left.” 

He fell silent then, his face drawn, his shoulders sagged. By contrast Buffy felt energised, flooded with emotions, her body buzzing. He would drive her crazy with this arrogance and self-pity, but he had been her best friend and she’d missed him more than she could say. She cared deeply for him, but he was also the only person who could make her want to commit extreme violence upon their person.

She struggled for control, turned away and walked further into the alley, sure his eyes were on her at every step. She balled her hands into fists, then stretched out her fingers, desperate to release some tension. She wanted to punish him, hit out but also pull him close. She wanted to hug him and welcome him home, wanted to cry but didn’t want to break in front of him. Perhaps she could understand why he’d walked out on her, but how could he leave Dawn? He’d promised…

“So, where the hell is Angel?’ Spike asked again.

“Why do you need to know?” she snapped, vainly trying to order her thoughts. She immediately regretted her irritation but he shook his head as if he despaired for them both and she felt a moment of scorching anger. “Remember you used to love me,” she pleaded silently. She couldn’t fathom where this enmity between them had come from. Three years apart had done nothing to soften his feelings towards her, if anything, he’d become more resentful.

She took a deep calming breath and thought of Dawn and how happy she had been to find out Spike was alive. Buffy knew she should be happy too, but his angry words had been so painful to hear. She supposed that at least he’d been honest, so she needed to become the rational Slayer and return that honesty. 

“He found a way to rescue Illyria.” Spike started; his eyes wide with surprise. “He said he’d contacted someone who could help him. They had the co-ordinates and could open a portal.”

They both knew Willow had tried to find Illyria, but it had been an impossible task, even for someone with her power. There were so many hell dimensions and without exact co-ordinates it was like trying to find one hell in a haystack of hellishness.

“Why didn’t you stop him Slayer?” He sounded frustrated with her, as if she hadn’t fought hard enough to make Angel stay. 

“Why didn’t I stop him?” she replied sarcastically, hurt and astonished at the absurdity of the question, “and how was I to do that Spike? Tie him up? Stake him? Lock him in my non-existent dungeon?” 

He turned on her and barked, “While he’s had an attack of Catholic guilt, his son needs him here.”

“Connor?” she asked, confused by the swerve the conversation had taken.

“Yeah, that’s the one.” Seeing her at a disadvantage seemed to renew his energy. “He’s been hurt. Thought Angel’d want to know. Maybe see him before it’s too late.” 

Buffy’s mind was spinning but she was grateful for the distraction, happy to admit she didn’t want to devote another second to discussing her many failures as a girlfriend. She forced herself to focus; Connor was hurt, badly by the sounds of it and they needed to find Angel. 

“Trust Angel to get all dramatic and forget about those he leaves behind,” Spike grumbled. 

“We have his papers,” she said thinking aloud, drowning out Spike’s continued list of Angel-based grievances. “Or Dawn does, at the house. You could see them. You might notice something we missed, a clue maybe.” 

“A clue ‘eh? How very Pepper Anderson of you,” he smirked. “All that police training certainly paid off.”

“Shut up Spike,” she bit back. “Do you want my help or not?”

He pursed his lips as if debating the best course of action. She crossed her arms and wondered idly who this Pepper Anderson was. After just enough time had passed to annoy her, he said, “Alright Slayer, lead on.” They walked out of the alley into the street and turned left towards Xander and Dawn’s house.


	3. Chapter 3

She’d walked many times; she’d strolled and skipped and plodded. She had even walked alongside Spike before. They’d held hands, planned campaigns, eyed each other suspiciously, all while walking like experts. Now she found putting one foot in front of another required a level of concentrated effort that had started to hurt her brain. 

The restaurants and bars of the entertainment district were behind them and they had entered darker streets lined with bungalows and family homes. Buffy checked her watch; 02:40, too late to message Dawn or Xander.

Spike nodded to the watch on her wrist, “Too early for a scoobie visit?” 

“Once they see you, time will be meaningless,” she grinned up at him and immediately tripped over her feet. His hand shot out, grabbed her and stopped her falling on her face. His arm snaked around her and she pressed herself against him, his body as solid and cool as she remembered. She lifted her head, her lips brushed against the softness his throat and she wanted so badly for him to lean down and kiss her, open mouthed and wet with longing. Suddenly his grip on her arms tightened and pushed her away.

“I need your help to find Angel,” his voice was low and dangerous, “then I’ll be on my way.” 

“I get it,” she said with feigned indifference, “but you put your arm around me.” She slapped his hands away and marched ahead of him hoping he didn’t realise her insides were squirming with humiliation. 

They didn’t speak again until they reached the house. Buffy walked up the front steps but Spike remained on the pavement. She looked back and saw how anxious he was, shoulders hunched, hands in pockets, not certain of the reception he’d get. She was reminded of her return from LA, when she’d stood in front of her own house, not knowing if her mom would ever forgive her but knocking on the door anyway. It was a wretched feeling and she desperately wanted to reassure Spike that he was welcome here. 

“Joycie’s so big, you wouldn’t recognise her,” she said, reminding him there was nothing here to be afraid of, “and Xander’s got a beer belly.”

“Always knew he’d run to seed.” They shared a smile and he relaxed a little. “And Nibblet?” he asked quietly. 

“Fat.” Buffy blew out her cheeks and waddled down the steps. “Huge. Like an adorable beached whale.”

She waited as Spike appeared to consider his options. He massaged the back of his neck, rolled his eyes and stared at the heavens. Finally, he straightened his shoulders and purposefully marched up the porch steps.

“C’mon Slayer, what you waiting for?” he grinned as he passed her. Buffy looked towards the heavens but she couldn’t see any sacred signs, just thousands of stars glinting down on them. She joined him at the door and using her key she let them into the house. Spike stood a moment at the doorway then slowly lifted his foot across the threshold. He looked to Buffy in wonder and her heart ached for him. They hadn’t rescinded his invitation and he was able to enter their house anytime he pleased. 

They walked quietly to the kitchen, Spike opened the fridge and helped himself to a beer. Buffy shook her head and sighed as he raised the bottle in cheers before gulping down the contents. She knew it was much needed fermented courage so said nothing. Leaving him to drink his fill, she climbed the stairs and went to wake Xander and Dawn.

“Hell of a time to come calling,” Xander said in greeting, as the two men shook hands. Spike offered Xander one of his own beers and Xander jovially accepted. 

Dawn was far more effusive, and threw her arms around Spike, burying her tearful face in his chest. Spike wrapped his arms around her, closed his eyes and rested his cheek against the top of her head. Buffy turned away, the look of serenity on his face almost unbearable. She felt a stab of jealousy that it was Dawn and not she, who had let him know he was still loved.

Dawn gushed about all the changes her clever fiancé had made to the house since Spike had last visited and Xander glowed. She chattered about how Joycie had grown, how Giles commanded the new Council, Faith’s romance with a television actor who’d been in that godawful miniseries, oh you know the one, about the house fire… they talked about their upcoming wedding and the new baby, Xander’s promotion and how they hoped to move soon… 

Buffy helped herself to a beer and stood watching them from the doorway. Dawn kept talking but didn’t ask Spike where he’d been or why he’d returned, while he said very little, seemingly overwhelmed by Dawn’s constant chatter. Buffy was thinking how crazy the situation was when suddenly Spike looked straight at her, making her start. His eyes were wide and pleading. She playfully raised her hand and studied her fingernails for a moment and when she looked back his eyes flashed vampire yellow. She rolled her eyes in reply but couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this happy.

“Dawnie, I’m sorry,” she stepped into the room and halted her sister’s ramblings. “We need your help. Those papers that Angel left, do you still have them?” Spike, eyes human again, smiled thankfully at her.

“Sure, they’re in my office, I’ll get them.” Xander disappeared upstairs and quickly returned with an ornate wooden box which he handed to Buffy. The four of them moved automatically to the dining table, programmed by years of scoobie meetings. Buffy opened the box and one by one removed the items; a few letters, an old video tape, photographs, a passport in the name of Liam O’Connor, a notebook, a small ornate dagger, and a baby’s hospital bracelet bearing the name Connor Angel. 

As she took each item from the box, she passed it to Spike. He flicked through the passport, “Must have come from Wolfram and Hart, it’s real enough.” He opened each letter carefully, read them silently and replaced them in the envelopes. There was a love letter from Darla, written as if by a Victorian lady, a thank you from Winifred Burkle in which she calls Angel a handsome man who saved her from the monsters. The third letter, little more than a note was from Cordelia Chase, telling Angel that she thought he was a great father and was very proud of him. This note made Buffy especially sad, Cordelia had been her friend and had died far too young. 

The dagger and the hospital bracelet gave nothing away. The notebook had a few drawings, some of which were quite detailed, especially one of Dawn holding baby Joycie. When they’d first seen the contents of the box, just after Angel had vanished, Dawn had seen the drawing and said she’d frame it. Seeing it again, she tore it carefully from the notebook and passed it to Xander, who would make a suitable frame.

There were scribbles in the notebook, dates and words, but nothing that meant anything to Spike. Until he saw the letters ‘e v e’ written in Angel’s scrawl at the bottom of an otherwise empty page. 

“Do any of you know an Eve?” he asked. The others shook their heads. Spike turned the rest of the pages, but there was nothing more of interest. “There was an Eve bird at Wolfram and Hart,” he said slowly, “She was immortal, until she wasn’t.” 

“What happened to her?” asked Buffy taking the notebook from him and running her fingers over the letters ‘e v e’. Where once they’d meant nothing, now she was sure they spelt a name.

“Well that’s just it, I don’t know Slayer. But I do know the wolf, the ram and hart don’t like to let a good lawyer go, so if that scrawl is Eve’s name, I’m guessing she’s still toiling away in one of their offices.”

“So how do we contact this Eve?” Buffy felt suddenly exhilarated. This was the first time they’d discovered even the smallest clue to Angel’s whereabouts.

“Don’t you have some super powered witch on your payroll, or has she vanished too?” Spike glanced down at Buffy’s hand, laying on his arm. She’d touched him without thinking, but she quickly removed her hand once she saw what she’d done. Things between them were already precarious and she didn’t want to push him further away.

Willow was particularly grumpy at being rung at 5am, but said she’d join them in an hour. It was suggested that she could teleport herself there to save time, at which point she put the phone down on them. Dawn and Xander took the opportunity to get showered and dressed and Buffy went to the kitchen to prepare some breakfast. 

Buffy felt more positive than she had in a long time. She’s been foolish last night in the alley, trying to force a lover’s reconciliation, when she just needed to remind Spike that he was a scoobie, and scoobies stuck together.

“No more beer for you,” she sing-songed putting the empty beer bottles in the recycling. Spike pulled a face, but sat at the kitchen table, flicking through one of Joycie’s story books. “Sorry, no blood,” Buffy apologised, “I’ll go to the butchers when they’re open. Or maybe Will can magic some up.” She turned her focus to making breakfast, breaking six eggs into a bowl, she began to whisk.

“So how do you know Connor?” she asked conversationally, opening cupboards until she found a frying pan. 

“We work together,” Spike replied, giving little away.

“Yeah?” she put the pan on the stove to warm. “Isn’t he a social worker or something? Willow’s met him. But you know that I guess?” She found the butter in the fridge and sliced a large nob into the frying pan where it sizzled. She turned down the heat.

“It wasn’t enough for him, he wanted to do more. Help more. He’s strong, vampire strong, maybe even slayer strong,” He sounded proud, he admired the boy. “He can brood like Angel though, he’s gotta watch that.” 

“You’re training him?” Buffy asked, pouring the eggs into the pan. Spike had been a good teacher and the potentials had learnt a lot from him.

He was suddenly beside her, slicing bread for the toaster. Her body tensed as she watched his hands work, those long delicate fingers, how they used to touch and stroke her, how she’d sucked on those fingers, covered in her own juices … She squeezed her thighs together and blushed, embarrassed that just the sight of a domesticated Spike could turn her on. She quickly turned back to the eggs, sprinkled some salt and pepper into the pan and hoped he’d think it was the heat from the stove making her face red.


	4. Chapter 4

Willow appeared during breakfast. Spike looked surprisingly shy as Willow squealed and hugged him. Buffy’s heart went out to him, it was an awkward situation and somehow everyone’s pleasure at seeing Spike made it worse for him. She steered Willow to a chair and put a cup of peppermint tea in her hand.

“Will, we need to find this woman, Eve,” Buffy explained. “She works for Wolfram and Hart, but that’s all we know about her. Can you help?” 

Willow sipped her tea and thought for a moment. “Well it’d be easier with a surname, but I can find all the Eves who work for Wolfram and Hart, then we can narrow it down from there.” It took her less than an hour to produce a list of all the Eve’s “living and... not” at Wolfram and Hart, and then another hour before they narrowed it down to one Eve at the Vegas office. They would have been quicker, but Joycie had woken up and wanted to play.

She was immediately fascinated by the stranger with the white hair and funny accent and wanted him to sit with her while she ate breakfast, build a Lego house and help her with her colouring. Spike enjoyed playing with the child and Buffy enjoyed watching them together, it was nice to see him so relaxed. 

Xander eventually took pity on him and took his daughter to the park, leaving the others to decide a plan of action. After some debate, it was decided that they would ring first and try to speak to Eve. Spike would make the call as Eve knew him and she might be more inclined to talk to someone she recognised.

The phone on speaker, Buffy, Willow and Dawn gathered around, Spike made the call. “Good Morning Wolfram and Hart Las Vegas,” came a syrupy voiced switchboard operator on the third ring. 

Spike caught Buffy’s eye, she nodded her encouragement and he said in to the speaker “Could I speak to Eve please?” The three women held their breaths; Spike pursed his lips.

“One moment please, I’ll put you through.” The three women released their breaths and grinned at each other. 

“Hi, this is Eve,” Spike nodded to Buffy, this was definitely the right Eve.

“Eve love, it’s Spike. Remember me?” He sounded his most charming and Buffy felt a thrill of excitement flutter in her belly. 

“I remember. What can I do for you?” Eve asked, sounding anxious.

“I’m looking for Angel pet, any ideas where he might be?” 

There was silence and Buffy thought Eve might end the call. Her eyes widened, but Spike shook his head; give her time.

“Can we meet?” she asked.

The three women looked to each other. Willow grabbed a pen and paper and quickly wrote ‘half way Bakersfield’.

“Sure,” Spike said calmly into the speaker. “Bakersfield? Later today?”

There was silence again, then Eve said “Tomorrow, Carla’s café, Union Avenue, 6am.” 

Spike ended the call, sat back in his chair and grinned. “It’s like a spy film,” Dawn giggled. 

“She knows that café,” Buffy said “she’s done this before.”

Spike got up from the table, “Off for a smoke,” he explained. After a minute Buffy followed him outside. She was surprised to see him on a cell phone, she hadn’t realised he had one. This was new for Spike. He turned his back on her and kept his voice low so she couldn’t hear what he was saying. She was embarrassed to have interrupted and was just about to go back inside when he turned to her.

“Thanks for letting me know… yeah that’d be great…see you there,” he ended the call and put the phone in his pocket. “A friend, he’s going to be at the café tomorrow, early. He’ll check it out before we get there, make sure there’s no nasty surprises,”

“Good idea.” She wondered who the friend was, but thought if she asked too many questions, Spike would think she didn’t trust him. 

Instead, she hopped up on the porch’s wooden railing, stretched to kick her legs out playfully and watched as her painted toes brushed against his jeans. “You did great in there,” she complimented, with what she hoped was her cutest smile. He lit a cigarette and paid no attention to her bare toes brushing against his legs. They stayed like this for several moments then he surprised her and stepped forward, close enough her swinging feet could brush against his thighs. She swallowed, not sure what possessed her, but she began to caress him with her foot. Once twice, left and right, her feet stroked him through his jeans while she stared into his eyes, thinking how beautifully blue there were. Without warning, he grabbed her ankle, throwing her off balance. She gasped in shock but didn’t pull away, excited by the coolness of his fingers on her skin, her breath shallow, wondering if he knew how much she wanted him. 

He took a slow drag from his cigarette then tossed it over the railing. They stood together for what seemed like an age. She didn’t dare move for fear of breaking the spell. Then he dropped her ankle and moved out of her reach. “There’s something you need to know,” he said, looking out beyond the garden into the distance. Buffy’s eyes were drawn to his hands which hung loosely at his sides. She didn’t want talk, she only wanted him to touch her again.

“Tell me,” she replied, hating that she sounded so breathless. She knew already, she’d seen it in his eyes and she wasn’t a fool. Three years was a long time and Spike had never been alone; had never wanted to be alone.

“I’m with someone.” Buffy fingers dug into the wood, she could feel it splintering. “He’s… I’m with Connor.” He waited for a reaction. She could only stare and shake her head in disbelief. “We’re together,” he said firmly, as though he expected her to argue.

How stupid she was. She hadn’t guessed by the way he spoke about the boy. But not a boy of course, a man. She still didn’t know what to say and could tell her silence angered him.

“Do you know, the last person I ever wanted to see again was Angel. But you Slayer? You come a close second.” He stared at her; his face blank; his words like glass shards being pushed deep under her skin. “I spent days looking for Angel. Looked in every demon bar and sewer, every rat-infested hole, before I came to you.” He sat down beside her on the railing. She supposed so he didn’t have to look at her face anymore. “When you told me you loved me, after all those years, I could’ve dusted right there. I was so bloody happy.” He grinned as he pictured that moment on the rooftop. “Then do you know what happened Slayer? Course you do”. He laughed and it was painful to hear. “You changed your fucking mind. Hilarious ‘eh? What a joke on old Spikey, the idiot. Not only did you tell me you weren’t in love with me anymore, but you didn’t want me to leave. You wanted me to stick around, fight the good fight with you, be your friend. Be a bloody scoobie.”

He stood and walked calmly to the door, keeping his back to her he continued “You thought I was a pathetic thing, too needful to exist without you. It was the soul that made me leave and I was glad of it.”

Utterly devastated, Buffy slipped from the railing and tumbled to the porch steps, sitting on the first rung, her back to the house, her feet on the wet grass which glistened with dew. She felt sick to her stomach, she might heave right there on Xander’s carefully kept lawn. It was going to be a beautiful day she thought as she wrapped her arms around her legs and put her head on her knees. Was Connor beautiful? Was he kind and sweet, did he treat Spike well and return his love? But why should she care? She hated him, hated them both. She wanted Spike gone. She couldn’t look at him. He’d rather fuck that freak …

Her hands flew to her shocked face, covered her gaping mouth. God what an idiot, how stupid, thinking she could win him back, win him over, when he was in love with someone else. Was Connor loving and kind, a shoulder to cry on, a comfort in hard times. Hysterical laughter burbled in her chest. She was losing her damn mind. She’d ended it with Spike, promised friendship, but what could he do with that? No wonder he resented her, she’d been cruel, expected him to wait around, fight alongside her and not want anything more. 

But he’d wanted Connor sweet kind loving Connor caring Connor who listened and helped him and held him tight sexy hot Connor better in bed Connor better fuck better at fucking Connor dying Connor lying in a hospital bed injured and fighting for life Connor. 

Buffy wiped her face on her sleeve and stared out beyond the garden. There’d been no answers in the heavens for her, and no truths written in the earth. She’d lost so many, her mom and Angel, she’d nearly lost Dawn, she understood loss. God Spike, how you must have hated asking me for my help. 

Buffy, eyes dry, went into the house, looking for him. Xander had bought him some blood, he’d fed and gone to make a bed in the garage. The garage was attached to the house, lockable and windowless. Taking a deep breath Buffy knocked and waited for Spike to call out. “Yeah?”

The space was small, just big enough for one car with shelving on the back wall. Xander had his own office, where he kept most of his equipment, so the shelving was used for old paint cans and rusted tools, broken bits and pieces Xander had promised to fix but never had.

Spike sat on the little camp bed that had been made up and pushed against the far wall. His feet were bare and he was reading. He dropped the book on to the bed as she entered.

“I won’t stay long,” she began, holding her hands up as a sign of truce. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry, really sorry, about Connor being hurt and I’m going to do everything I can to help. I’ll get Willow and the Council involved. We’ll find a cure, we’ll help him heal, whatever it takes, ok? I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I am sorry.” Without giving him a chance to reply, she turned and left. 

She found Willow and Dawn in Dawn’s office, they were looking at maps of Bakersfield and Dawn was searching Council records for any mention of Eve. 

“You haven’t slept Buffy, you ought to at least have a nap,” Dawn said in her best mother hen voice.

“I will, but I wanted to talk to you and Will first,” Buffy said, sitting on the arm of the oversized leather chair Willow was curled up in. “You know Connor’s hurt, well I just wanted to ask you both to help him. Use magic or ask the Council for help, or something. He’s Angel’s son and he needs us.” She was desperately tired now, but she hoped she was making sense. The two women nodded and said of course they’d help. “Talk to Spike, find out what you can,” she said, before finally going to bed and trying to get some sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Buffy slept fitfully for a few hours, then lay staring at the ceiling for a few hours more. She spent that time alternatively weeping and cursing. She thought about her break-up with Spike and all those times she’d hugged him and told him she’d always be his friend. How he must have hated her. 

Ironic that if she hadn’t told him she loved him, he certainly wouldn’t have left. He’d have been happy just being around her. In finally saying the words, she’d sowed the seeds of their destruction. 

On the surface, everything had worked out well. He’d left their apartment and found a new place a few blocks over. She’d had fun helping him decorate. When Dawn had announced her pregnancy, Spike had cried, he and Xander had smoked cigars and toasted each other with expensive whiskey. When Willow found a suitable re-aging spell for Giles, Spike had taken him aside and talked to him about what it would mean for him and Roux if he became an adult again and decided to look for her. When Angel and Illyria arrived, he’d happily agreed with her that their break up had been mutual. God, how that must have burned, how humiliated he must have felt, admitting their break-up in front of Angel of all people. 

Frustrated by alternate bouts of anger and guilt and with the clock saying 3pm, she decided to get up. Downstairs she found Xander sipping a beer and watching tv.

“Don’t judge,” he said, “it’s your fault we started early, I’m just keeping the party going.”

“Classy, Xander,” Buffy smiled. “Where’s Dawn?”

“She’s taken Joycie out to get more beer.” She hoped he was joking. “Spike’s in the garage,” he said, as if she’d want to know his whereabouts. “Hey,” he continued conversationally, never taking his eyes from what appeared to be a documentary about space travel on the tv, “did you know Spike’s got a cell-phone? Does that seem weird to you? I mean, don’t you wonder who the hell he’s calling?”

“He’s been gone three years, Xan, sure he’s got a lot of things we don’t know about,” she replied, hoping she didn’t sound as bitter as she felt. 

“Do you think he’ll stay?” he asked, still staring at the tv.

“Not for a second.” Something in her tone must have sounded off, as Xander gave her a curious look. “What? You think a vamp with a super-duper cell and lots of new friends to call, would want to hang in the burbs?”

“Look Buff, I can see you’re still angry at the guy…”

“I am not angry,” Buffy said, “well, not much.”

“I get it, I really do,” Xander said, forgetting about the tv show. “Take me and Anya. I left her at the altar, which by the way, I will surely go to hell for, completely my bad. But then I expected her to take me back,” he swallowed down the last of his beer and waved the bottle in Buffy’s direction, as if it helped him make his point. “I was a total idiot. Love isn’t the words Buff, it’s the actions, and my actions did not say I love you. No, they did not.” 

No, they did not. She and Xander had been friends for more than half her lifetime, but he still had the capacity to surprise her.

Spike didn’t appear from the garage till 9pm. Buffy surreptitiously watched him find his blood in the fridge, pour it into a mug and put it into the microwave. She hoped talking to Willow and Dawn earlier had given him some hope and a more positive attitude.

“Cat got your tongue?” he asked as the microwave pinged. 

She knew this was his attempt at being conciliatory and she appreciated it. “We should set off in plenty of time, so about 1 am,” she said. “How do you feel about patrolling beforehand, we’ve got the time?”

“Sure,” he said, finishing the blood, “got nothing better to do.”

Buffy had her scythe and they grabbed some stakes and a small dagger from Xander’s armoury (“My armoury,” corrected Dawn) and made their way to the nearest graveyard.

“Like old times innit?” Spike said, as they checked the crypts. “’Cept we used to find something to slay back then.”

“Maybe this is the unfashionable neighbourhood and they’ve all emigrated to a more up-market cemetery,” Buffy replied, kicking down a crypt door that had stubbornly refused to open. 

“I didn’t tell you,” she said shyly, making conversation to dispel some of the awkwardness she was feeling, “I live in Cleveland now, near the hellmouth.”

“Guessed you’d moved. Can’t imagine you’d want to live with Xander if you had a choice,” Spike pushed the lid from a tomb and peered inside. “I’ve lived with the blighter.” Spike pulled a disgusted face and Buffy laughed. “Don’t you miss Nibblet and the kid though?” 

“I guess,” Buffy said as they exited the crypt, happy there were no lurking beasties. “We’re not as close as we once were. Dawn’s a mom now, with a house and a soon-to-be-husband. We lead very different lives.” 

Before Spike could answer, a foot slammed into Buffy’s lower back and she stumbled forward. Quickly recovering, she turned and kicked out. Her boot slammed in to the chest of a female vampire. Buffy landed a punch, full force, in the vampire’s mouth and felt her teeth rattle. She had time to regroup as the vamp was slow to recover. Must be a fledge, she thought, her technique not yet honed so it was easy to spin her, put her in a stranglehold and stake her. Buffy brushed the dust from her clothes and turned to see Spike staking his opponent. They grinned at each other. 

“Nothing like a good fight to get the blood flowing,” he laughed, “and that was nothing like a good fight.” 

Buffy rolled her eyes at the bad joke, but the fight had helped relieve some of the tension between them. 

“So, Cleveland, what’s that like?” Spike asked, lighting a post-dusting cigarette.

“Lonely at first,” Buffy replied honestly. “I didn’t know anyone. It’s not like all the slayers live in a big dorm or anything, they have their lives outside slaying, most of them are still at school.” 

“You the geriatric slayer pet?” he joked. “Yeah, I can see the wrinkles and is that a stoop?” 

Buffy took the jibe in the spirit it was meant and bumped him with her shoulder as he laughed at his own joke. Then unbidden, the thought of Connor came to mind. He was younger than her and she bet he didn’t have wrinkles; his skin would still be smooth. Did Spike call him ‘pet’ or did he have a special nickname only for him? Would they always be entwined in her mind now; would she never think of Spike without thinking of Connor? 

“Maybe we should go back,” she suggested, suddenly wishing she weren’t going to be trapped in a car with Spike for five hours, when all she could think about was him and Connor.

“You alright? It was just getting fun,” Spike complained. He was leaning against a crypt, his thumbs tucked into his belt, his ankles crossed, looking completely at ease and ready to take on the world. It seemed unfair that he could look invincible while she was falling apart. “The Home of Eternal Peace used to be a fun-packed night out,” Spike said, “plenty of nasties to be had. C’mon Slayer, don’t let me down.”

Buffy suspected her misery was giving Spike some pleasure, and her own attack of the guilties made that seem like a fair exchange. 

“Okay, we’ll swing by Eternal Peace,” she acquiesced, “but then we really should be getting back.” 

It turned out The Home of Eternal Peace had become the cemetery to be seen in and was overflowing with fashionista vamps looking for a cosy crypt or a succulent mourner. Between them Buffy and Spike slayed seven vampires and Spike killed a large horned demon, species uncertain. He gave a whoop of joy after that kill. Strange how one of the undead could sound so full of life Buffy thought. She didn’t begrudge him this meagre pleasure, understanding his need for release.

When they could find no more vampires or demons, they started to walk back to the house. The Women’s Centre was only a few blocks away and Buffy suddenly felt the need to talk to Willow.

“Can you get back to the house by yourself?” she asked Spike, who looked deeply offended by the question.

“I’m not a bloody child,” he snapped. “And don’t be late back!” he shouted after her as she left him to his own devices. 

She messaged that she was on her way and Willow met her at the door. They went to Willow’s apartment on the third floor, where Willow made tea and Buffy asked after Connor, having not dared to raise the subject with Spike.

“Spike told us about him and Connor,” Willow said gently. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok.” Buffy was grateful for Willow’s kindness. “Not sure how I feel. Which is a lie of course. I just don’t like the way I feel.” Willow put her arms around her friend and gave her a quick hug.

“Right, let’s get back to business then. Spike said Connor was attacked by a gang of Defrenrak demons. He was out patrolling alone, so Spike didn’t find out about it till the following night, when Connor was found and taken to hospital. Defrenrak are rare and poisonous, we didn’t even know they existed in our dimension. Connor’s in a bad way. Dawn’s looking through Council records for any other attacks and I’ve got the coven working on a cure.”

“Thanks for helping Will. I know Spike and Angel will be grateful.” Buffy sipped her tea. She pictured Connor all alone, afraid and in pain. She hoped they could get the information from this Eve person, even though that would mean Spike would leave again. He’d want to return to LA to be with Connor. 

“What about you Buffy? Can I help you?” Willow asked sympathetically.

“I’m not sure anyone can help me. My heads all over the place, I think I might be going crazy. Again,” Willow quickly moved from her chair and sat on the couch next to Buffy. She put a comforting arm around her shoulders. 

“It’s the grief spiral, that’s all,” she said, rubbing her friends back. “It’s normal and you won’t feel like this forever,”

“I don’t know what that is,” Buffy said tearfully, grateful when Willow passed her a box of tissues.

“Oh sweetie, you’ve been grieving for a long time and you thought you were getting over it, and now Spike’s back and suddenly all those feelings are back, and maybe even more intense, especially now Connor’s been thrown in the mix.”

“Grief spiral huh?” Buffy said, blowing her nose. “Well I’m certainly spiralling.” 

“So what,” Willow said brightly. “You’re allowed to be all out of sorts and a bit unbalanced. Your ex has suddenly appeared to tell you he’s got a boyfriend, who happens to be the son of your first love, oh and he’s still pissed at you for falling out of love with him, which you are absolutely free to do by the way, and now you’ve got to go on a mission with this ex to find out what’s happened to his boyfriend’s dad. It’s enough to make anyone crazed.”

“You’re the best best-friend anyone could wish for, and that’s not the spiral talking,” Buffy sobbed, throwing her arms around Willow and hugging her a tight as she dared. “Trouble is, I still love him.”

“I know Buffy, I know,” Willow whispered.


	6. Chapter 6

Xander had allowed Willow to magically tint the windows so Spike could drive safely, but only after she’d promised to remove it as soon as the car was returned.

“Buggering Tesla,” Spike grumbled. Buffy sniggered. He was insulted that he’d been asked to drive an electric car, as though it bought his manliness in to question. “Just feels wrong, driving electric in this gas guzzling country,” he whined.

“It’s a luxury car, dumbass,” Xander said, defending his beloved sky-blue Model 3, “and if I don’t get it back in one piece, well let’s just say there’s a stake with your name on it.”

Buffy was pleased Spike drove; she and cars were still unmixy things. He spent several minutes playing with the large touchscreen in the middle of the console. “Eyes on the road! Eyes on the road!” Buffy yelled. Spike found what he was looking for and the car was filled with noise. Buffy prodded the console until the deafening roar became a background whisper. She was not travelling all the way to Bakersfield with that noise and she didn’t care that Spike looked so dejected.

The night was warm and Buffy opened the window a little. There was a clear sky with lots of stars. She thought idly how she wished she knew more about stars, but to her they were just pretty lights.

“Do you miss space?” she asked, thinking how Spike lived aboard the spaceship that had been ‘manned’ by giant bugs and how exciting space must have been. She blamed Xander for making her watch that dull show about space exploration. If only the producers had known there had already been a vampire in space.

“Nah, I’m more a feet on the ground sort of bloke,” Spike said, though Buffy could see him smiling in remembrance of the bug ship. 

“Do you think Eve will help us?” she asked a little later.

“Not for free, no,” he replied. Buffy wondered what Eve could want and what she could have possibly asked Angel for. She stared out of the window for a while. Spike was a good driver and the road was smooth.

“Do you remember the stars in the desert?” she asked, thinking of their time in the demon internment camp. They’d spend evenings sat under the stars, then stroll home to their tiny caravan and their little trundle bed. . .

“They’re the same stars Slayer,” he replied, glancing past her through the open window. She turned away from the stars and studied him for a while. He looked ethereal in the light reflected from the car’s interior. Too delicate and fragile to be real, his face a razor-edged blue. She closed the window.

“I felt the same,” she said quietly. “That everything changed so quickly and I couldn’t keep up.” She hoped he remembered what he’d said in the alley the previous night. He stayed impassive, watching the road ahead. “When I was 15, I was told I was Chosen. Special. Destined to fight monsters and die young, and I did. Less than a year later I was dead.” A fleeting look of anger passed over Spike’s face. She knew it wasn’t directed at her, he was angry because she had suffered. 

“I somehow made it to thirty.” She continued. “I looked around and saw that everything had changed, except me. I could have been 16 again, fighting the same monsters, still in love with my vampire boyfriend. Even my aged watcher had reappeared just to push the point home.” She sighed and looked down at her hands. She twisted her rings and rubbed her thumb over her shiny nails. “I had a sort of crisis and you were collateral damage. Not just you of course, I hurt everyone including myself.” 

She reached out to the console and turned up the volume. She laid her head back and closed her eyes. The bass reverberated in her chest. Then it didn’t. He’d reached out and turned it off.

“You kept touching me,” he said, not looking at her.

Buffy turned her body towards him and curled her legs beneath her. He used to crave her touch, he used to beg her to touch him, to scratch and squeeze, stroke and pinch… 

“Used to love touching you. Running my fingers through your hair. Holding you while you slept. Kissing your neck. Every touch felt like a gift.” He fell silent, but Buffy’s head was filled with memories. 

“Even telling me you’d fallen out of love, you hugged me.” Buffy remembered every embrace and she’d thought her touch comforted him. “Sat me down and held my hand. So close I could smell the soap on your skin, your vanilla shampoo.” He sighed and hit the palm of his hand against the wheel. “Christ, I need a smoke.” He fumbled in his pocket and found a crushed packet. He pulled out a cigarette with his teeth and lit it with the cars lighter. He opened his window as a small conciliation to Xander.

“You’d hold my hand, put your arms around me, stroke my face. It was constant.” He fell silent for a moment as though collecting his thoughts. Buffy didn’t move. “You said I’d never feel alone because you’d always be there. You wanted us happy and together. Those were your words, happy and together.” He took another drag of his cigarette and threw it from the window. 

Without warning he reached out and curled his fingers around Buffy’s fingers, making her gasp in surprise. He placed their clasped hands on his thigh. Buffy stared at them, hers tanned his pale, both smooth. Her thumb rhythmically stroked the back of his hand. This touch was craved and this touch comforted. She didn’t understand how, or what it meant for them, but they’d come to some sort of understanding. 

They sat like this for a while until Spike’s cell phone rang, making Buffy jump. His ring tone was currently Blitzkrieg Bop by the Ramones. A tinny shout of “Hey ho, let’s go” filled the car till Spike untwined their hands, throwing her an unexpectedly apologetic smile, and hit a button on the console. 

“Spike?” came a man’s voice.

“Charley boy. Yeah, it’s me. You’re on speaker,” Spike warned, looking at Buffy. She brushed her blonde hair behind her ears and fanned her fingers under her eyes, wiping away any stray mascara. She reacted automatically even though she knew this Charley couldn’t see her.

“Hi,” she said, “I’m Buffy,” her name always sounded strange on her lips.

“Wow, not the Buffy?” came Charley’s amazed reply. Buffy looked questioningly at Spike, who rolled his eyes. “I’ve heard so much about you!” Charley continued. “You actually know my wife.”

“What?” Buffy was sure he must be mistaken. 

“We can have the big reunion afterwards kiddies. Right now, what’s happening in Bakersfield?” 

“Err yeah, I flew in a few hours ago, rented a car and came straight here. Been here about an hour, it’s all dark, no sign of anyone. I’ll hang till after your meeting. I’m in a white Honda Civic, come and say hi.”

“Sure Charley, of course,” Spike answered. He sounded distracted and glanced quickly at Buffy before asking, “How’s Connor?” Buffy looked out of the window, feeling as though she were intruding on a personal moment.

“He’s still hanging in there. Got an email from the Watchers Council would you believe? They’re looking into cures apparently. I guess that’s your doing Buffy?”

“Well I guess,” she said. “If the e-mail’s from Dawn Summers, that’s my sister. She’s a high up in the Council. We’ve also got a coven working on spells, but the demon that attacked Connor is rare in this dimension.” She looked at Spike, his face was grimly set. He was driving faster and she took this as a sign of how worried he was, taking his frustration out on the road.

“Yeah, the fool should never have been out there alone. We told him to wait, but…”

“Speak later Charley,” Spike said and quickly ended the call. The car began to slow to a more legal speed and Buffy wondered if now he were calmer, she dared ask him some questions. 

“You were hunting the Defrenrak?” she asked, hoping he didn’t think she was prying.

“Yeah,” he answered and Buffy thought that’s all he was going to say, but he continued, “we were working for a clan of Benlakads. They’re decent, for demons. Mostly law abiding. Anyway, they have a treaty that forbids Defrenraks from coming to this dimension. Don’t ask me the details. I didn’t know and I didn’t care. Charley handles all the legalese.”

Buffy was forming a clearer picture now. They worked together; Spike, Connor and this Charley guy. Charley might even be a lawyer. 

“So, we had a plan. A subtle plan, to get the Defrenrak out of this dimension with no bloodshed.” Buffy guessed the rest of the story; Connor went hunting on his own and was punished for it. 

Not wanting to force Spike into saying something disloyal, she said, “He’s strong Spike, he followed he first rule of slaying; don’t die. He’s still alive and there’s still hope.”

“He’s tough, no doubt,” Spike said, “but there’s a lot going on in his head. It’s like he’s two people and you’re never sure which one you’re going to get.” He rubbed the back of his neck and rolled his shoulders. 

Willow had met Connor several times and had told Buffy how he’d been kidnapped as a child and reappeared six months later as a teenager. A very angry and unhappy teenager, with the strength and skill of a vampire. Buffy supposed being brought up in a hell dimension by a monster who used you to gain revenge on your father, wouldn’t make for a very stable adult. 

“Angel wiped his mind. Wiped everyone’s mind,” Spike said bitterly.

“What?” Buffy didn’t understand what he was saying, and if he was seriously suggesting that Angel had tabula rasa-ed everyone, well she just didn’t believe it.

“Knew you wouldn’t believe your precious Angel would do such a thing,” Spike said, shaking his head. “Connor was disturbed and I mean really disturbed. Ready to destroy the world kind of disturbed. Wolfram and Hart made Angel a deal; join them, take over the LA branch and they’d wipe everyone’s mind. Everyone who had any knowledge of Connor would have their memories changed. Like he never existed.” 

Buffy stared at Spike, her mouth opened in shock. She didn’t believe Angel would do such a thing. Extinguish your son’s whole existence? It didn’t seem possible. The power of magic needed for everyone who knew about Connor to have their memories expunged must have been enormous. 

“Oh god, poor Connor,” she said. 

“Yeah. He got a new name, a whole new family. It was all good for about a year. Then the spell was broken, all the memories came back. So yeah, he’s tough alright. He’s had to be.”

Buffy wondered just how damaged Connor really was. He was obviously reckless, even dangerous and she could imagine how attractive that could be to Spike, especially after the straitjacket of their relationship. Connor was the free spirit, she the over-bearing general who’d ordered her troops to be ‘happy and together’, even when they were falling apart. He probably fulfilled that need in Spike to take care of the damaged and hurt, and Connor was certainly that. Maybe Spike saw himself reflected in the younger man, maybe he was trying to recapture that bit of himself she’d forced him to strip away… Spirals and spirals she warned herself, your thoughts are spiralling and that won’t help anyone.

They arrived at Carla’s Café half an hour later. Spike drove around the block and they easily spotted Charley in the white Honda Civic. Spike flashed his lights, and Charley flashed back. The lights were on in the café, but it wasn’t yet 6 so they parked across the road and waited. The sun wasn’t due to rise till 6.30, but Spike wore a hoodie and had gloves in his pocket, just in case the meeting went on longer than they expected.

At exactly 6am they exited the car, walked across the road and entered the café. Apart from the woman behind the counter, who Buffy assumed was maybe Carla, they were alone. There were framed photos of local landmarks on every wall and a tv up in the corner behind the counter but the café was dominated by the giant head of a longhorn, it’s horns six feet from tip to tip. Buffy and Spike exchanged bemused looks, ordered coffee and sat in a corner booth to await Eve’s arrival.


	7. Chapter 7

Maybe-Carla served them coffee and asked if there was anything else she could get them. They thanked her, but no, this was fine. It was then the door opened and Buffy knew this must be Eve, for no-one had ever looked more out of place. Or stunning. Eve was wearing the sharpest suit Buffy had ever seen; three-piece, black, tapered trousers cropped at the ankle, white shirt and thin black necktie. She wore black strappy sandals with six inched spiked heels. Her strawberry blonde hair was flowing around her shoulders and her make-up shimmered with perfection. The fashionista in Buffy stared in awe.

Eve joined them at the booth. She glided, her feet not touching the floor. She called to the waitress “Just coffee thanks,” and eased herself gracefully into the booth next to Buffy, who had never felt shabbier or more forgettable.

“You’re dead,” Spike said gleefully, spreading himself along the booth, his arms across the back, his legs wide. Buffy couldn’t hide a smile at Spike’s show of control. She was finding that she enjoyed seeing him enjoy himself. 

“No need to be rude,” Eve responded, raising an eyebrow.

They were silent as Maybe-Carla bought Eve her coffee. 

“I thought you needed my assistance. Is that no longer the case?” Eve asked, raising a perfectly styled eyebrow and pushing her coffee away.

“Can you help?” Buffy asked.

“I can.” Eve produced an envelope from inside her jacket, put it on the table and pushed it towards Spike. “The co-ordinates you need and some extra information about where you’ll be going. Fun little hell dimension, and I’ve been to a few.”

Spike reached out but Eve placed one superbly painted talon on the envelope and held it in place. “Not so fast. This deal is reciprocal. I need something from you.”

Buffy caught Spike’s eye. This was when they learnt they couldn’t meet Eve’s terms and would have to change plans. She tried to signal him with her eyes; Spike you grab the envelope, I’ll deal with Eve. He was looking at her and shaking his head, obviously not understanding a damn thing she was attempting to impart. She slumped back into her seat and sighed, her powers of telepathy must be on the fritz today.

“I asked Angel for the same thing,” Eve said, “but he never returned so couldn’t fulfil his end of the bargain. I’m hopeful you two will be more reliable.” She looked from one to the other, and her confidence seemed visibly to wane. Buffy felt quite offended. She and Spike may not look the picture of the classic heroic type, but they’d saved the world plenty of times. 

“Get on with it then,” snapped Spike, as offended by Eve’s judgement of them as Buffy had been.

“It’s simple really. I want to be released from my contract with Wolfram and Hart. I want my soul to pass over and my body to rot. Angel promised, once he’d rescued Illyria, she’d be able to do that for me. But of course, something went wrong and neither of them reappeared.”

“We can do that,” Spike said before Buffy could stop him. How could he agree to such a thing without discussing it first? She decided seeing Spike enjoy himself was maybe not what made her happy.

Eve, obviously better at reading the room, stood up and said, “I’ll give you a minute.” She took a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket and made for the exit. How did she have cigarettes in her pocket, Buffy wondered, the jacket had been so tight, the line so perfect?

“They’re dead smokes,” Spike said, as if reading her mind. “She conjures them up. They’re not real. Or they are real, but only to her, otherwise I’d have nicked one.”

Buffy rounded on him, “How could you agree to that? We can’t promise to free her. We don’t know how!”

“Let’s try some positivity shall we?” Buffy was certain now that seeing Spike happy had actually moved onto the list of things that made her quite cross. “You and me are much better bets than Angel. We’re going to hell and we’re getting that bastard out. And Blue of course.” 

“You think Illyria can actually free Eve?” Buffy knew Illyria was powerful, but could she outwit Wolfram and Hart? “If she’s not dead of course,” she added sarcastically.

“If she’s alive, Blue can do anything. She might kill you doing it, but that’s what Eve wants, so win-win.” Spike’s grin went undiminished.

“What if she’s dead? What if I can’t find her? Could Eve take some sort of revenge?” 

Before Spike could reply, Eve returned. She remained standing and in the accompanying silence Buffy heard herself say, “You’ve got a deal.” She held out her hand and Eve shook it. Eve’s hand felt soft and light, like cotton wool. 

“Speedy return,” she said, handing Buffy the envelope. 

Buffy slumped down into the booth and looked at Spike’s self-satisfied face. “I had to,” she explained. “I have to get them back. Illyria sacrificed herself for us, and Connor needs his father. Besides, between them, Willow and Dawn can do just about anything. They’re my insurance.”

“Why do you keep saying ‘I’?” Spike asked suspiciously. “Do you think you’re leaving me behind?” 

“Yes,” she replied. “You’re going back to LA.” With that she stood and went to the counter to pay Maybe-Carla for the three coffees while Spike waited for her outside. He was lighting a cigarette as she exited. She checked her watch, a few minutes to sunrise. There was a flash from Charley’s Honda and they watched him get out of the rental and go over to the Tesla. He stroked the glass roof as if it were one of the most beautiful things he’d ever touched. Buffy wondered why men had this odd fascination with cars, it bordered on the sexual …

“I’m going.” Spike said, leaving her on the pavement. “Hey Charley boy,” he waved to Charley and when he reached him, Charley slapped him on the back. As the sun began to rise, Spike jumped into the driver’s seat and Charley sat in the passenger side. They were talking when Buffy reached the car and she ungraciously harrumphed into the back seat, slamming the door hard. She hoped it hadn’t been slayer-hard or Xander would be having words with her on their return.

Spike ignored her and continued his conversation “… and we could go tonight, if Dawn can open a portal.” 

“Hi,” Charley said, seemingly far more polite than Spike. He turned towards her and held out his hand. “We meet at last. I’m Charles Gunn. I used to work with Angel back in the day.”

Buffy couldn’t remain angry faced with such charm and said, “Hi, it’s nice to meet you.”

“I feel like I already know you,” he said, as Spike started fidgeting in the opposite seat. She could tell he was already bored with the small talk and thought it a waste of time. In her current mood, this made Buffy want to extend the chatter for as long as possible.

“Yes, you said I knew your wife, but I can’t imagine how,” she said, smiling sweetly in Spike’s direction. 

“Right, and I think you ought to be getting back to her Charley,” Spike interrupted, virtually pushing Charley out of the car. “And we’ve got to get back to San Fran. Wanker to rescue and what all.” 

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Charley said, sliding out of the car, “hope to see you again Buffy, maybe you could come to dinner, meet Anne.”

“Of course Mr Gunn, I’d love that. Anne’s actually my middle name, so maybe your wife and I do have things in common.” She knew she sounded vaguely ridiculous but Buffy didn’t care. She was mad and she wanted Spike to suffer, even if the torture device was the liberal use of small talk, it’s all she had in her armoury right now and she was prepared to use it.

“Funny story, it’s not actually her real …,” Charley got no further as Spike pulled the door closed. He opened the window and called, “I’ll message you, Charley, safe flight.” He pulled smoothly away from the curb and they were on their way back to San Francisco. 

Buffy climbed into the front seat, fastened her seat belt, pulled down the sun visor and studied herself in the mirror. Not too bad she thought, though not as glamorous as Eve. She ran her hands through her hair and turned to Spike. “You are not going.” 

She took the envelope out of her pocket and took out the contents; one folded sheet of thick and expensive paper, the same colour and texture as the envelope. She opened it and saw the top half of the sheet was covered with a chart or a map of some kind, she wasn’t sure how to read it, but she knew Dawn would know. Underneath were what she supposed were the co-ordinates, though they didn’t look like any co-ordinates she’d ever seen before. 

Below that were some typed words, which she read out loud, “’This is hell. It knows you. It feels what you feel. Your fears become manifest and the world changes with you,’ then below that, in tiny writing; ‘Translated from the Voraktian’. I’ve no idea who they are, but I guess they designed their own hell.” She took out her phone, took a picture of the sheet of paper and messaged it to Willow and Dawn, asking them to do what they could with the information and telling them she’d see them at lunchtime.


	8. Chapter 8

“I am damn well coming with you.” He was driving too fast again, glaring at the road as if it had done him some terrible disservice. 

Buffy put the envelope in the storage compartment between their seats and said, as diplomatically as possible, “I think you need to be in LA. Connor needs you and what if we get stuck in hell, like Angel? I think the best thing is for me to go alone.”

“I’m not one of your little scoobie gang, I don’t have to follow your orders.” To prove the point, he pulled a cigarette out of the packet with his teeth and lit it with the car’s lighter. He couldn’t open the window because the sun was too high, so the car filled with smoke. 

“Dammit Spike, you can be so childish sometimes,” Buffy tutted, carefully opening her window a fraction and waving the smoke towards the gap. “I’m thinking of you, you know, you and Connor.” 

“Let me think of Connor,” he snapped, flicking cigarette ash on to the floor. “I don’t want to sit in a bleeding hospital, waiting for you, not knowing what’s going on.” 

Waiting for her? Would he be sat at Connor’s hospital bedside, thinking of her? She told herself she was being silly, reading too much into it, imagining meanings that simply weren’t meant. 

“While I’m away, the coven or the Council could find a cure. Don’t you want to be there when Connor wakes up?” The logic of this seemed to puncture his unrighteous anger and he fell silent. He finished the cigarette and stubbed it out in the car’s pristine ashtray. Buffy pictured a vein popping in Xander’s neck.

“If he gets better,” Spike said slowly, “then he’ll be better when I get back. If he doesn’t get better, it won’t matter will it?”

Buffy really didn’t want to argue and she had to admit it was absolutely his decision. If he wanted to go to hell, who was she to stop him. She smiled at her own joke, but acknowledged that without him they would never have found a way to rescue Angel, so he deserved to be involved in the next step.

“Know you’re trying to do the right thing,” he said, a look of determination on his face. “You’re a white hat, you can’t help yourself. But I have to do this. We go together or we don’t go.”

Buffy knew what it was to spend hours in a hospital waiting room, or sat by the bed of someone you loved, feeling useless and desperately hoping everything would be okay. She would have much rather been slaying vampires or hunting demons, anything but the endless waiting. Spike felt the same, she was sure of it. He was here now only because he couldn’t face what was waiting for him in Los Angeles. He couldn’t change anything there, couldn’t affect the outcome. He needed to feel as though he were doing something constructive and worthwhile and she couldn’t take that escape away from him.

“Okay,” she said “we go together.” He grinned at his victory and Buffy felt guilty at the happiness she felt. Deep down, she knew all her attempts at persuasion were just a flimsy justification to cover her real feelings. She loved him and selfishly she wanted him by her side, even though she might be condemning them both to an eternity in hell and taking him away from the person he loved. She’d offered him an out, but was relieved he hadn’t taken it, not sure what she would have done if he had. 

“You okay?” 

“Yeah, of course,” she replied, giving him her brightest smile. It was a lie of course, she felt a long way from okay, but dwelling on her feelings of guilt wasn’t helping anyone, so she changed the subject. 

“So, Mr Gunn’s your boss?” Suggesting Spike could ever have a boss was ridiculous, but the look of horror on his face cheered her so much, sounding ridiculous was definitely worth it.

“Charley Gunn my boss? I should bloody well think not. We are colleagues. Partners. He’s the junior partner obviously.” Buffy felt a surge of affection for him. She wished he knew his full worth and didn’t feel the need for this pretend superiority. “And you can stop calling him Mr Gunn anytime now.”

“So, did you go to Mr, sorry, Charley, when you left San Fran?” He took a moment to answer and she knew he was debating what to reveal and what to keep hidden. She’s spent the last three years wondering where he was and what he was doing and now she had the chance to find out, she wanted to hear every detail. 

“I wasn’t thinking straight. We’d argued.”

“I remember,” and she did. 

They’d argued about Angel, again. He’d been living with Dawn and Xander since they’d returned from the future. He was depressed and Buffy had been trying to help him; they’d spent long hours talking, she brought him books, they’d watch DVDs together and she’d encourage him to come slaying with her. Spike had rallied too, at first, but he had little patience for a brooding Angel. 

“You’re there all the time. It doesn’t help him. He relies on you too much. You’re even buying his blood for him. He’s got to fend for himself, can’t you see that?”

“He needs me. Us,” she’d replied, angrily. They’d had this argument several times over the last month and she was, frankly, bored by it. “There’s no need for this attitude Spike,” she reached for his arm, wanting to calm him, he shook her hand off. “We are not together anymore. You’re my friend, but you can’t dictate how I spend my time, and who with.”

Spike looked stricken. She’d tried to backtrack, be kinder, but she really had meant what she’d said. They weren’t together, she could spend all her time with Angel, and it would be none of Spike’s business. 

“You’re right,” he agreed. “I thought I could stay. Be close to you, but I don’t think I can, I don’t think it’s fair.” 

He left the following day. 

“Thought I’d go north, at first. Didn’t have a plan,” he smiled at her, “not like me, I know.” 

“So, did you? Go north?” she prompted.

“Nah, I went to the nearest bar, which I think was east from your flat,” he looked embarrassed. “I thought I’d go to Europe, Paris maybe. But I didn’t, I just stayed in the bar. Surprised you didn’t come looking for me luv.”

“Did you want me to?” she asked, surprised as his admission.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Yes. Maybe. Who knows? I was half-shot.” She laughed, easily picturing him on a bar stool, drowning his sorrows in several bottles of demon whiskey.

“I begged Willow to do a location spell, but she wouldn’t. She said you’d made a choice and she for one was going to respect it,” she grinned, “I nearly slapped her.”

“Ha,” he barked, “glad you didn’t, you could be a toad now.”

“Oh no, not a toad. Willow’s got frog fear.” Spike looked confused. “You didn’t know? Yes, the most powerful witch in the world has a fear of frogs. Oh, and public speaking.”

“So now we know how to defeat her,” Spike joked, “get her on stage and throw frogs at her. She’ll never come back from that.”

Not wanting to miss out on hearing what Spike had done during his absence from her life, she asked “So, after the bar, where’d you go?”

“Didn’t know where to go. Nearly came home, but then remembered home was a dank basement flat that reeked of you.” She frowned at him, not sure what he meant. “You painted every wall, hung every blind. You were all over that flat.” He saw sorrow on her face and smiled, “I quite liked it really.”

Just add that to the big pile of guilt I’m carrying around, thought Buffy.

“Anyway,” he continued, “The only person I could think of in my drunken state was Charley Gunn. We’d been friends at Wolfram and Hart. I liked the guy. His wife’s a good sort too, they took me in.” He shrugged, as if there was little more to say.

“And Connor?” she asked nervously. Spike was talking freely and her curiosity was getting the better of her. She couldn’t help but push. 

“Angel had asked Gunn keep tabs on him. Over the years they’d become friends,” he shrugged again. “I’d met him before, but we’d never really talked. He wanted to know about Angel and the past,” he glanced at Buffy, and she gave him an encouraging nod. She steeled herself, not sure what he was going to tell her. “He was sort of obsessed. He knew nothing about Darla. I felt sorry for him.” He stopped there and Buffy thought he wasn’t going to say anymore, but then he continued, “He wanted to know about me too, and Dru, but mainly me. He’s easy to talk to. And fun. He loved slaying and I’d forgotten how much fun it could be.” He shook his head, as though trying to remember something. “I’d spent months in an internment camp, it’d been hard, no freedom, no food. Then you and me breaking up, being on my own. I needed some fun Slayer, and he liked fun.”

They spoke little for the rest of the journey. The silence seemed to press in on them, so they made a few attempts at small talk but it always petered out. Both of them were lost in their own thoughts.

She’d known Spike had suffered in the camp. They hadn’t spoken of it since, but he’d been starved and she’d forced him to feed from her. She wondered now if that had affected their relationship in ways she hadn’t thought of before, maybe she’d declared her love for him because letting him feed from her, and not loving him, subconsciously felt wrong to her? Damn her stupid overactive brain, second guessing everything she’d done. 

She looked at him, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, a tune no one else could hear playing in his head. She was taken by his face, he was very pretty, there was no denying. But when she thought why she loved him, she remembered how, without a soul, he’d comforted her and fought alongside her. How he’d cared for Dawn, expecting nothing in return. He’d battled demons to regain his soul and he’d become a better man, not because of her, but because of who he was. But even that wasn’t it, not really. It was this, just being with him, knowing that with one look he could make her laugh, that he could quote her poetry, that just being close to him was a comfort. She remembered the camp where they had spent their nights in a little trundle bed talking and making love till the early hours, she’d told him all her secrets and trusted him completely. 

She wished she could open a window as it was quite claustrophobic in the car. The tinted glass made the outside world look shadowy and unreal. She closed her eyes and laid her head back on the seat. She’d be happy when they were finally home and she could get some fresh air.


	9. Chapter 9

They arrived back at the house at midday. Xander had messaged saying he’d opened the garage door so they could drive straight in. It was safer for Spike than parking on the street.

They’d travelled the last hour of the journey in virtual silence and both were relieved when they’d safely parked the car and could put some space between them. Spike wasn’t even too annoyed when Xander complained about the smell and ash on the floor and ‘are you kidding me, is that a cigarette butt in the ash tray?’ 

Once Xander begrudgingly allowed them back into the house, Spike found some blood in the fridge and put it in the microwave. Buffy was pleasantly surprised that as he waited for the blood to warm, he poured her a coffee. They exchanged awkward smiles as he handed her the mug. She knew he must be feeling self-conscious about how much he’d revealed to her. 

Xander directed them to Dawn’s office, telling them she’d been working all morning on the map and co-ordinates they’d sent her. They took their mugs upstairs and found Dawn reclining on her settee a laptop on her knees.

“Hey you two, come in,” she called as Buffy put her head around the door. “How did the meeting go?”

“No problem at all, Nibblet,” Spike replied, dropping into Dawn’s office chair. It was too uncomfortable for her now, so Dawn lay on an antique reclining settee that Xander had refurbished for her. There were no other seats in the room (Dawn liked to dissuade people from dropping in on her when she was working) so Buffy perched on the edge of the desk, where her knee was pressed distractingly close to Spike’s arm. 

“Well, you’ll be pleased to know that Willow’s found where the actual dimension the co-ordinates are for is and I’ve done a bit of research on the hell itself.”

“And?” Buffy asked impatiently. Spiked poked her leg with his elbow, a reminder to be nice to her heavily pregnant sister who was doing them a favour. Buffy had to stop herself tickling the back of his neck or playfully pulling his hair to let him know she’d got the message. Instead she apologised and asked Dawn to continue, but she couldn’t help but wonder what he’d do if she gently drew her nails against the back of his neck. 

“Well,” Dawn continued, giving Buffy a hard stare, “there are very few records for this dimension. It seems once you’re trapped there, it’s incredibly hard to escape.”

“Run by demons ‘eh?” Spike asked. “A prison dimension? We’ll need to go tooled-up Slayer.” 

“No Spike,” Dawn said, “unfortunately nothing so prosaic. It seems this hell was created to naturally feed off its inhabitants. It can sense their fears and phobias and create them. It brings them to life, as such. Not really life of course, they’re not real, not as we’d understand reality, but they are real enough to utterly destroy you or drive you to madness.”

“Wow,” was all Buffy could think to say. 

“I can’t really be more specific,” Dawn continued. “From my readings, and Voraktian isn’t a super well-known language, I think it’s quite fluid. There are folk stories about particular demons spending one or two months haunting those trapped there, then vanishing and never being seen again. It’s also not instant, it sort of sucks you in. At first everything is fine and you don’t think you’re in hell at all, then suddenly, wham, a hoard of terrifying zombies starts invading your house!” The Summer’s sisters exchanged smiles, having both survived such an attack years previously. “It appears to affect everything,” Dawn continued, “like the weather, your clothes, the air. It’s just a very unexpected sort of hell.”

“Hard to fight the unexpected,” Spike said, looking at Buffy.

“I think time’s the key,” she said, “if we find Angel quickly the dimension might never even know we were there.” Spike gave her an appreciative look and she returned his smile. She may be clueless where her private life was concerned, but being the Slayer, that sort of came easy. “We shouldn’t take much with us, it’ll just slow us down. Some stakes, the scythe, a sword maybe, what do you think?”

“It might take more than one day, you ought to take a tent and some sleeping bags,” Dawn chipped in.

“Food for you, blood for me. Change of clothes. That should do it,” Spike added.

“Willow’s working on a compassy thing,” Dawn said, holding her arms out to Spike, who helped her off the settee and into a standing position. “Thanks Spike. So, I can open a portal at the exact co-ordinates Eve gave you, but once you travel through, you’re out of my reach. Willow’s compass will be a connection between us. I’ll open another portal and it will tell you where it is and how long you have to get there. I can’t keep them open permanently, it’s too dangerous, and hard actually, but I’ll open a portal at least twice a day until you return.” 

They spent the next couple of hours packing for the trip. Xander dug out an old tent and checked it over to make sure it was still fit for purpose. He also found two rucksacks he and Dawn had used once, after which Dawn had said that while five-star hotels existed she would never go backpacking again. Xander moved his precious Tesla out of the garage, as that was where Dawn was planning on opening the portal.

Spike had been staying at a cheap motel, but it seemed a waste of time to go back to pick up his clothes. He’d left nothing else of value. Xander offered to lend him some jeans, socks and t-shirts and after some ribbing about the size differential, a belt. Xander also went to the butchers and bought fresh blood, which Dawn transferred to air-tight containers. She packed enough for four days, which she’d worked out was probably 22 earth hours, though she warned Spike and Buffy that she couldn’t be exact. 

Buffy changed her clothes, but she doubted anyone would notice as she stuck to her now usual dark jeans, t-shirt, dark checked shirt, thick socks and black boots. She packed virtually identical clothes in the backpack and threw in a few essentials; hairbrush, moisturiser, soap, toothbrush and toothpaste. She opened her make-up bag and stared at the contents. Deciding she didn’t need the ability to create a smoky-eye in hell, she returned it to her dressing table.

At 16:20 Willow appeared and the team congregated around the dining room table, Joycie happily sat in front of the TV watching Paw Patrol. 

“I’m actually nervous,” Willow said pulling a weirdly anxious face. Buffy didn’t say so, but she felt the same. “So, I’ve not got very far with finding a cure for Connor. But I’ve got the coven working on it, and there are things we can do to make him more comfortable, so there’s that.” She looked at Spike who nodded grimly but said nothing. 

“Now, for your trip, I have this,” and out of her bag she pulled a small round metal object. She pressed a little button on the side and a lid lifted. She held up the object and it looked to Buffy like a large and ornate watch. Willow handed it to Spike.

“Watch and a compass,” he said, looking questioningly at Willow.

“Yes and no. Sort of,” she replied. “It will point you in the direction of any portal Dawn opens, just follow the arrow. But it will also tell you how long you have till the portal closes. It should last forever. Clever huh?” She looked proudly around the room and everyone nodded, it was indeed very clever. Buffy realised why she had felt so nervous. The idea of forever. Being trapped in hell, chasing an arrow on a compass, forever. They were planning on this trip taking four days at most. When compared with four days, forever seemed a very long time. They might exist in hell forever, but Dawn certainly didn’t have forever, and neither did Connor.

She looked at Spike and he was staring at her with bright excited eyes. She held out her hand and he slipped the compass into it, then rolled her fingers over so she made a fist. Buffy wasn’t sure what passed between them, if anything. Or if it was the magic in the compass, or something in herself, but she knew there was no backing out, for either of them. 

She opened her hand and looked at the magic watch. It was silver, and when she opened the lid, she could see the workings, the arrow and points were blue, and the clock face was a golden yellow. “Ooo, pretty.”

“It lights up,” Willow said, “so should be even prettier. The light will start when Dawn opens a portal, and then the clock will count down, getting dimmer as you run out of time. If you run out of time.” 

Buffy passed the compass to Dawn who said, “Obviously I’ll try to open a portal in the same place, so you’re always moving in the right direction, but I can’t promise to hit the exact same spot every time.”

Xander took the compass from Dawn. “Very nice craftmanship Will,” he complimented, then handed it to Spike, who put it in his jeans pocket. The five of them stood and Xander gave Buffy a quick hug and said to Spike, “Hey man, beers in the fridge for when you get back,” then went to join his daughter in the living room while the others went out to the garage. 

“Ok everyone,” Dawn said, “let’s get this show on the road.” Spike and Buffy shouldered their backpacks. Willow leaned in and hugged them both and whispered, “Good luck.”

Dawn held her hands out in front of her and concentrated on the open space, lights began to flash and a circle of fire opened in the centre of the garage. Spike and Buffy looked at each other and without a word Buffy jumped through the fire, followed a second later by Spike.


	10. Chapter 10

Buffy landed on her knees. It was dark and cold and water was seeping through her jeans. She scrambled to her feet and Spike careered through the portal a second later. The two clasped arms, dizzy with relief at having arrived safely into hell.

Still unsteady on their feet, they looked around, the landscape barren and empty. The sky was a dark grey and the ground marshy, a misty drizzle fell, reducing visibility to a few feet. Spike vamped out, hoping his heightened vampire senses would enable him to see further or perhaps smell life happening somewhere near. 

“There are trees over there.” He pointed to the east. “We’d at least get some cover from this rain.” Buffy agreed, so they began to walk in an easterly direction. It was incredibly slow going as the ground was a swamp. The water wasn’t particularly deep, perhaps a foot at its highest, but the mud grabbed at their feet and didn’t want to let go. They had to fight for every step and it was exhausting. 

“It’s a bloody Irish bog,” Spike shouted furiously across to Buffy, who was two paces ahead of him. Her slender build was an advantage as she didn’t sink as low in to the mud as the more muscular Spike. “It’s an Irish bog,” he shouted again, and he began to laugh. Buffy turned and held out her hand, thinking he was mired down and needed assistance, but he had thrown back his head and was laughing wildly. Buffy worried he might have already become affected by this dimension and gone slightly mad.

“Are you okay?” she called, struggling to make her way back to him. He was bent double, his hands on his knees, hooting with laughter. “Spike, are you alright?” She made it to his side and put her arm around his shoulders, not sure what to do.

“Oh Slayer,” he said, still giggling, tears running down his now human face, “it’s a bloody Irish bog. Don’t you see?” She didn’t see and just stared at him, wondering if she should leave the crazy vampire here and try to make it to the woods alone. “Oh Buffy, you must see,” he said, still chuckling to himself, “this is definitely Liam’s hell, it has to be.” He bent down and pulled up a handful of earth, “Look, it’s lucky heather!” and he was off again, laughing uproariously. 

Buffy looked at the clump of moss and earth in Spike’s hand, and slowly began to understand what he was suggesting; that this landscape was a recreation of an Irish bog, made real because Angel feared it. She felt a chuckle rise in her chest. This was Angel’s fear? It was wet and cold and difficult to navigate, but it wasn’t particularly fear inducing.

It took them a minute or two to regain their composure, though Spike couldn’t wipe the grin from his face. They struggled on and every few minutes Spike would begin laughing again. “Bet this bloody rain’s part of it too. Got eighteenth century Ireland written all over it.” This made Buffy laugh, and she had to grab Spike’s arm for fear of falling, as her body swayed but her feet stuck fast.

“But why?” she asked, starting to feel guilty for finding Angel’s fears laughable. 

“Don’t rightly know pet,” he replied. “Guess it’s psychological torture. Reminding him of what he wanted to escape from?” Spike shrugged his shoulders. “But who wouldn’t want to escape this?” he asked, wiping rain from his face and looking down at his soaked clothes and peat covered boots. 

Buffy looked around her, though could see very little. This had to be a highly exaggerated version of Ireland, which she’d always thought of as green and verdant and spring-like, populated by extras from The Quiet Man. Suddenly she realised, “If this is Angel’s hell, that means he must be nearby. It must mean we’re close.” She looked up to a sky she couldn’t see and offered up a silent thank-you to Eve for giving them the correct co-ordinates. 

“I guess it must do Slayer,” he said, “if we’re right about it being Angel’s hell.” But Buffy was convinced.

“Come on,” she ordered, pulling Spike’s arm, sure they were inching closer to the trees and once there, they’d be closer to Angel.

It took another thirty minutes till they managed to escape the bog and plant their feet on firmer ground. Both were soaked to the skin, but only Buffy felt the cold. They decided they should keep moving, but stick to the wooded area to escape the worst of the rain. Spike smelt the air, hoping to find some indication as to which direction they should travel.

“I can smell the peat and the heather and you pet, but no other signs of life.”

“We can’t be close enough yet,” Buffy said, certain they were heading in the right direction.

“Maybe this isn’t Angel’s hell,” Spike said tentatively. “Maybe each hell is separate. And what about Blue? She was fighting an army of demons, and I can’t sense any of them either. Maybe she didn’t make it luv.”

Buffy stopped walking and turned to him, “Call it Slayer intuition or something, but I know we’re in the right place, thanks to Eve, and you’re right about the landscape being all about Angel. I’m convinced this is his version of hell, and he has to be alive for this place to feed off him.” She started walking again, then turned and added, “Illyria’s an Old One, she’s powerful and built to survive. I’m sure she’s here somewhere.” She may have sounded sure, but Buffy couldn’t help wondering why everything here related to Angel. There was no evidence at all of Illyria’s existence.

They walked for what felt like days, but Willow’s watch told them it had only been four hours. Spike had vamped out and smelt the air several times, but still hadn’t found a trace of the missing pair. As the light faded and it became too dangerous to walk any further, they decided to camp for the night. Buffy put up the tent while Spike hunted for wood. Though most of the wood was damp, he found enough to make a small fire. Buffy sat close to the meagre flames and ate a stew-like concoction Dawn had packed for her. Spike sat further from the fire and drank his dinner of cold pigs’ blood. Neither meal was particularly appetising but both knew they had to keep their strength up for what was to come.

“You ought to take your socks off pet,” Spike advised. He’d made a simple stand, out of three pieces of wood that stood over the fire, he suggested she put her socks over it to dry. “Your jeans too,” he added.

Buffy suddenly felt self-conscious. She was aware of how horridly clammy her jeans felt and she could feel Spike’s eyes on her. She knew she should ask him to look away, but the thought of him watching excited her. She wanted to peel the clothing from her body and for him to see her. She’d move slowly, so his eyes could take in every inch of her flesh. He’d see her dimpled knees, her taut pink thighs and her damp white panties. The outline of her sex shadowed against her wet underwear. She’d have to open her legs to peel the jeans away from her body, and that’s when he’d come to her, push her to the ground, his hand rough between her thighs…

He’d stood and was putting more wood on the fire, no longer looking at her. She felt ashamed and faintly ridiculous. Wasn’t the embarrassment on the porch enough for her? He’d already rejected her once. He’d think she was desperate and sordid. He had someone else, he didn’t want her... 

“Buffy?” he called.

“Yeah, sorry. Sensible suggestion.” It was she who turned away from him and quickly peeled off her wet jeans. She was sure hopping around on one foot was the most unerotic thing Spike had ever seen. She handed him the socks and jeans and he arranged them carefully over the fire. Her shirt was long enough to cover her underwear and she’d put her boots back on, sure now she looked more absurd than sexy. Not knowing what else to do she said she was going to bed.

“’Night,” Spike said, taking her place by the fire, squeezing more water from her socks and smoothing them out before hanging them up again.

“You not coming?” she asked, trying to keep her voice light.

“Not tired,” he replied. “Join you later.” He looked over his shoulder and gave her a friendly smile.

Buffy crawled quickly in to the tent. She’d laid the sleeping bags top to toe, thinking Spike wouldn’t be comfortable sleeping next to her, face to face. Feeling strangely empty she climbed into one of the bags and laid on her back, staring at the tent roof, wondering nervously when Spike would join her.

Eventually she fell asleep, but the hard ground and the strange surroundings meant she woke every few hours. Each time, she realised she was alone. She would turn over and try to go back to sleep. Finally, she awoke and saw daylight shining through the tent. The sleeping bag beside her was zipped and had obviously not been slept in. She sighed at the familiarity of the situation, waking up alone when you don’t expect it never ended well for her.


	11. Chapter 11

Buffy stuck her head out of the tent and was pleased to see the drizzle had stopped, although it was still a cloudy and unappealing day. Spike was sitting by the fire, his back to her. “Good morning,” she called, hoping she sounded more cheerful then she felt.

“Morning,” he answered, standing and walking towards her. He crouched before the tent opening and held out her jeans and socks, which were folded and bone dry. “Had to stay up to keep the fire going. Got these dry.”

Buffy stared into Spike’s face, so close she could count every eyelash. He smiled and proffered the clothing to her. Buffy took them from him, her fingers brushing his, and mumbled, “Thank you, that’s good of you,” before quickly disappearing inside.

She doubted very much that Spike had stayed up all night simply to dry her clothes, but even so, he had dried them, folded them and presented them so sweetly she couldn’t help but feel touched. This was the Spike she knew, the one who’d bring her breakfast in bed, sit for hours sharpening her swords and tape episodes of his soaps so he could watch them when she was out. She realised she had a silly grin on her face and the guilt returned. Spike had moved on, he had a whole new life and she’d told him she accepted that, yet here she was getting giddy because he’d done something nice for her. They were here on a mission, not to rekindle some long dead romance. She pulled on the jeans and socks and laced up her boots before joining him by the fire.

“Here,” he said, handing her a mug of tea and a pack of cookies. She looked at him with amazement, not knowing they had tea-making facilities. “The Bit put some tea bags and a pan in my pack,” Spike explained. “All the mod cons,” he said with a grin.

Buffy grinned back, though she had no idea what ‘mod cons’ were. She sat by the fire, drank her tea and stole sly glances at Spike, who was poking at the fire with a stick. “Be careful,” she said, afraid a stray spark may do him some damage. 

“Look,” he said, and put his hand over the flame. Buffy gasped and reached out to grab him. “See,” he said, turning his hand over. There was a small red mark in the centre of his palm, but that was all. Buffy took his hand, turned it over and studied it. 

“The sun doesn’t dust you and fire doesn’t immolate. Maybe I should try a stake to the heart?” she said jokingly, releasing his hand. 

“Last night… the tent…,” he said, changing the subject and throwing another small branch onto the fire. 

“It doesn’t matter,” she interrupted quickly, “I get it.” She really didn’t think she could bear Spike explaining that the last thing he needed was to sleep in a confined space with her. No matter how innocent the situation, Spike would see it as a betrayal of Connor, and though she ached to have him close, she didn’t want to put him in that position. 

“We ought to make a start,” she said, throwing out the dregs of tea and handing the mug back to Spike. After brushing her teeth, she packed up the sleeping bags while Spike took the tent down. 

“Smell anything?” she asked when they were packed and ready to go. Spike vamped out and smelled the air. She thought there was something quite potent in such an animalistic act. He’d raise his head, take in the scents and savour them a moment, before shaking off the animal and returning to human face.

“Maybe,” he replied, not sounding particularly confident, “if we keep going east, it may get stronger.” Buffy nodded, she had faith he wouldn’t lead them astray. They continued east, staying to the woods for the most part. Although the weather had improved, they thought the wood gave them added protection.

“Buffy, look.” Spike had the watch in his hand. It no longer looked like a normal watch, but the face had split into two, and the two halves were floating over each other. One of the faces was a shimmering cornflower blue and showed the current time, 07:45, while the other was a golden yellow, brighter than the blue and shooting little sparks of light. It showed the time 03:20. They had 7 hours 35 minutes to find Angel and Illyria and get to the portal.

“Look at the arrow,” Spike said. Buffy saw it was pointing to the west, the opposite direction to which they were travelling.

“Dammit, we can’t turn back now.” She turned to Spike, looking for confirmation. He vamped out again, “Still east. Faint. The scent of fire… and cattle, maybe.” 

“Sorry Dawnie,” Buffy sighed sadly, “we’ll catch the next one.” She’d known they wouldn’t find Angel and Illyria quickly, but she couldn’t help feeling disappointed at having to literally turn their back on their escape route. Spike put the compass back into his pocket and they both tried to forget the minutes counting down as they trudged on through the wood. The compass had become an albatross around their necks, a constant reminder of their failure. It added a new level of bleakness to an already arduous mission.

“C’mon Slayer, even roughing it in hell’s got to be better than the SFPD.” 

Buffy couldn’t help but laugh, appreciating Spike’s attempts to lift the mood. “It doesn’t happen often Spike, but sometimes you’re righter than you know.”

“So, tell me,” he asked, “was it the polyester uniform that swung it?” Buffy stifled another laugh.

“You want to know for real?” she asked. Spike nodded, of course. “I didn’t know what else to do.” She thought back to those days, the future had been saved and everyone else was making plans. “It’s like you said, everything was changing and I felt left behind.” They exchanged a look of understanding. “Faith thought it was a good idea, that it’d give us something real to do, you know?”

“Oh, so you listen to Faith now do you, well then,” Spike said sarcastically. Buffy kicked out at him playfully and he chuckled at their shared joke.

“I wanted something other than ‘Slayer’, on my tombstone,” Buffy said more seriously. “I wanted to be part of the world.”

“So, why’d you leave?” Spike asked.

“Oh, it was awful,” Buffy said with a grin as Spike rolled his eyes. “Shift work and slaying are unmixy things. And I had to pass a firearms course, and do actual policework. Like, actually arrest human people. That’s not what I signed up for.” Buffy laughed. “You were there, you know, we we’re told we’d be the foundation of a new SFPD Supernatural Crimes Division, but that never happened. Faith disappeared after two months; she couldn’t take taking orders. I was more committed, thought it would get better, so I hung on. Then Giles left, taking Andrew, you left of course, and then Angel.”

“Where’s Faith now?”

“She’s in London most of the time, working for the Council,” Buffy replied. “We talk occasionally. She travels a lot. Dawn told you, she was dating an actor, so you know as much as me.”

“Oh yeah, must have blocked that out,” he said, though she knew he’d been so overwhelmed he’d probably not heard half the things Dawn had said. “So how come she gets a corner office at headquarters while you get a hellmouth?” asked Spike, sounding disgruntled on her behalf.

Buffy had never thought of her situation in those terms before. She suddenly thought she might like to give London a try, it must surely be less stressful than living on a hellmouth. “Giles didn’t ask me,” she said, “he asked Andrew to help him. Faith just turned up there one day and Giles gave her a job.” Buffy thought she might ring Giles when she got home and suggest she spent some time at Council headquarters, just to reacquaint herself with protocol.

“Yeah, I always wondered what was up with that, Giles asking Andrew to help and not you.” Buffy was taken aback by how annoyed Spike sounded. He’d never talked to her about any of this. Maybe he didn’t think he had any right to comment on her decisions after the split? When she didn’t answer he asked, “And what about the Magical Council? What happened to the Vampyr book? Don’t tell me Faith is writing the rules of magic? That would actually explain a lot.”

Buffy didn’t want to admit it, but she felt a tiny bit irritated by Spike’s questioning. He’d made it sound like other people were doing interesting and exciting things, while she was… Well what was she doing? She was living on a hellmouth, slaying vampires, like always. And where was the Vampyr book? For all she knew, Riley Finn was leading the Magic Council. What did Faith do? Was Andrew her sister’s boss? She knew nothing outside of slaying and her job at the coffee shop. For the first time since moving to Cleveland she regretted cutting herself off and not being more involved in her own life.

“When you left,” Buffy stopped walking and turned to Spike, having come to another realisation, “it threw me. You were my safety net, you know?” She was glad he said nothing, she really needed to talk. “I know I’d broken us up, but that didn’t feel real,” she was struggling to find the words. “You were still in my life, and I mean completely in my life. Like you said, I even decorated your apartment. Then you were gone and I knew it was my fault. Then Angel left and I felt adrift. Moving to Cleveland cut me off even more, but it was a way of punishing myself, you know? Like, I’d been so dumb and I was so angry at myself and everyone. Poor Willow especially. So yeah, I felt stuck while everyone else was moving forward, so I changed everything and guess what? I ended up slaying vampires on the hellmouth. Oh irony, thy name is Buffy.” 

She stared walking again, not waiting for Spike. Willow had once asked her if moving to Cleveland was a punishment and Buffy had angrily denied it. But she realised Willow had been right. Posting herself to an unknown hellmouth in Ohio, alone and knowing no one, was very much a punishment and she felt stupid for not seeing it earlier. She really was Denialy Buffy. She might try London, or the Magic Council, she might move back to San Francisco or take a round the world cruise, she didn’t know. But she did know if they ever got home, she wouldn’t be staying in Cleveland. 

“Thanks…” She wanted to thank him for being a good listener, but he wasn’t walking alongside her anymore. He’s stopped a few feet back, unmoving, vamped out and staring through the trees. She walked back to him and looked in the direction he was looking.

“See it?” He pointed ahead, but she could see nothing in this grey light.

“What is it?” 

“It’s a ruin now, but it was once a house. Can’t smell anything human. C’mon, let’s have a look see.”


	12. Chapter 12

Spike and Buffy stumbled towards the ruins. Buffy following Spike, as she couldn’t see anything through the dense fog. Spike kept assuring her that it was only a little way ahead, though it felt like they’d been staggering across the open ground for hours. Although the land wasn’t marshy and she hadn’t had to fight against the mud for every step, Buffy’s shoulders ached from the heaviness of the backpack. 

“Stop,” she eventually ordered.

“C’mon Slayer, it’s just there,” Spike excitedly pointed ahead. Buffy put her hand on his arm and he gently lowered it. 

“My back hurts, I need to rest.” He nodded with disappointment and helped lift the pack from her back. He placed it on the ground and Buffy sat, opened her cantina and took a long drink of cool water. “Does it keep moving?” she asked, once she was rested. They’d been walking for hours and not getting any closer, something strange was happening.

Spike stared at the ruins, reflected a moment then said, “Possibly.” Buffy would have laughed if she weren’t so tired. “Feels like we’ve walked a distance,” he continued, dropping his own pack and sitting next to her. Without thinking, Buffy put her head on his shoulder and the two sat in companionable silence.

“We should go east again,” Spike said, “trick the bugger.” Buffy’s eyes met his and widened with understanding. He may have been joking, but it was actually a good idea. Walking in a straight line wasn’t working, they had to try something else. They shouldered their backpacks and instead of going north as they had been, they veered off course, seemingly going east. Buffy began to see the ruins appear out of the mist, so she knew they were finally going in the right direction. They gave the ruins a wide berth, then turned back on themselves and approached from the opposite direction. In less than an hour they were standing at a broken doorway that lead into a derelict old house. The roof had fallen but the four walls and chimney stood.

“After you, Slayer,” Spike said, pushing open the heavy wooden door that was hanging by one rusty hinge. It creaked as loudly as any door ever had in a horror movie, but Buffy wasn’t scared of monsters, so she stepped inside.

There was one large room, gloomy and tumbledown, with a door leading off. The second room was similar to the first, just a little smaller. The roof had rotted and trees were growing over the walls, fallen branches littering the floor. They decided as it was late, they’d make this their camp for the night. Spike gathered up the branches, breaking them into smaller logs and sticks and busied himself making the fire while Buffy investigated their surroundings more closely.

“Look at this,” she called, holding up a large white claw. “Definitely demon which means we’re not alone, and look at these.” She held out two bones she’d found picked clean of flesh.

“Even in hell you can die,” Spike reminded her, tossing the bones aside, but putting the claw in to his backpack. “Memento,” he said defensively, when Buffy eyed him suspiciously. 

The wood wasn’t as damp here and the fire blazed well in the hearth. It was a dry clear night, though there were no stars, the firelight gave the room a pleasant homely feel and Buffy felt quite content. They’d found two rickety old chairs, which Spike had dusted down and they sat together by the fire. Buffy stretched her legs out, her toes nearly touching the flames.

“The days are much shorter here,” she said, eating another of Dawn’s concoctions, which Spike had heated on the fire. He still drank his blood cold, wanting to keep the pan blood free for Buffy’s tea. “Or maybe it just changes from one day to the next?” 

Spike lit a cigarette and sat relaxed in the chair. She’d not seen him smoke since they’d arrived in this dimension, but expected he’d smoked while she’d slept the previous night. To save embarrassment, she’d already put up the tent and laid out her sleeping bag, leaving Spike’s bag rolled up in his pack. He could join her if he wished, but she wanted him to know that she had no expectations.

“Ever go camping as a kid?” Buffy asked, making conversation and thinking of family vacations she’d taken to Idyllwild and Big Bear as a child.

“No Slayer, that wasn’t a thing when I was a child,” he replied, shaking his head. “Connor went a few times, or remembers going. Didn’t of course.” Buffy knew Connor would never be far from Spike’s mind, though he hadn’t spoken of him very much, he must miss him. 

“Like Dawn,” she said, sympathetically. “I remember her first birthday, when she started school, learnt to swim, I remember everything. Getting those memories was one of the best things that ever happened to me. I can’t imagine having a sister, or a child, and thinking the best thing for them is to wipe out everyone’s memory of them. We are our memories, when no one remembers us, then we’re truly gone.”

“Angel remembered. He kept his memories.” Spike looked into the fire, kicking one of the logs with his boot. Buffy wondered if vampires had a natural fascination for things that could kill them, though it seemed the things that usually killed vampires didn’t work in hell.

“Poor Angel,” Buffy sighed without thinking, and was startled by the look of anger on Spike’s face.

“Not poor Angel,” he hissed. “Angel washed his hands of the boy. But he still needed to keep tabs on him. Couldn’t forget his own son, what if he reappeared to mess up his nice life?” Spike spun in his chair, facing her, “If I professed to love someone, I’d never abandoned them, never leave them when they were in torment. I’d never look for a quick fix, an easy way out.”

“There must have been reasons Spike. We weren’t there, we don’t know,” she said calmly, not wanting to upset him, but not believing that Angel would abandon his son so casually. “Angel came to hell for Illyria, he didn’t abandon her.”

Spike threw his cigarette into the fire with a grunt, sat back in his chair and seethed for a while. Buffy took what was left of his blood ration, poured it into the pan and placed it over the fire.

“Shouldn’t do that,” Spike said petulantly. Buffy ignored him, and when the blood was warm, she poured it back into his mug and handed it to him. She sat on the floor at his feet, leaning against the leg of his chair and stared into the fire. 

“What Angel did was wrong,” she said soothingly. “It’s obviously harmed Connor in ways Angel couldn’t have predicted. But when you love someone, Spike, they become your world. But Angel isn’t like you. He can’t love like you, and I think you expect too much from him.”

Spike drank his blood and contemplated her words. “Maybe I expect too much of everybody ‘eh?” he finally said.

“Maybe,” she replied and patted his knee. She wished she could put her arms around him, let him know he was loved, tell him to forget about Angel, forget Connor… He’d be so shocked if she asked him to abandon Connor for her. Knowing he’d push her away, only made her want him more.

She felt him gently twining her hair through his fingers, stroking each strand. She put her head on his knee and closed her eyes, not sure if she were dreaming. He ran his fingertips up and down the nape of her neck and she sighed, thinking she could melt with the pleasure of his touch. Perhaps she did sleep a little because when she opened her eyes again, the fire was low, and Spike was calling her name.

“Buffy?”

“Mmm,” she said sleepily, lifting her head from his knee, stretching out her arms and yawning. 

“No portal luv.” Buffy didn’t initially understand what he meant. He had the watch open in his hand, holding it out to her. She took it and saw it was only a simple watch and compass. No bright lights, no luminous colours. “Dawn said she’d open two portals a day, didn’t she?” Buffy nodded, noting the time was past midnight.

“I’m not worried,” she said, looking up at his concerned face. “It could be a glitch with the magicks, or for some reason Dawn couldn’t open a second portal, or the time differential making things weird. They’ll be working on it, and there’ll be one tomorrow.” Spike’s raised eyebrow meant he wasn’t convinced.

“The watch could be the problem,” he said, taking it from her, “and we have no clue how to fix it.” He snapped the case shut and put it back in his pocket.

“We can’t panic,” Buffy said, more to reassure herself than Spike. 

“If you’re not worried, then neither am I,” he said, lighting another cigarette. “We’re in hell and no one is more able to survive a hell dimension than a vampire and a slayer,” and with a smug grin, he sat back in his chair and finished his cigarette.

Buffy marvelled at his talent for turning on a dime and finding the positive in the direst of situations. She left him to his smoke, went to brush her teeth then climb into her uncomfortable bed. She was a little worried, she couldn’t deny that, but she was grateful she had Spike here to share the burden. She fell asleep quickly and didn’t wake till she heard Spike calling her name the next morning.


	13. Chapter 13

“Don’t you ever sleep?” Buffy asked, crawling from the tent and seeing Spike sat by the fire, drinking his breakfast blood.

“I do,” he smirked, “but thought you’d like to know, I picked up a scent.”

Buffy felt a jolt of excitement and joined him by the fire. “It’s faint, but human,” he said, licking the blood from his lips.

“Then it’s not Angel or Illyria?” she asked, biting into a granola bar she’d dug out of her backpack.

“No. But it’s another human being in this dimension. That’s good news Slayer.”

“It is. It’s great news.” She could tell he’d been excited to tell her, and her reaction had disappointed him. “I’m just worried about the watch. Has another portal opened?” She threw her granola wrapper in the fire and took a swallow of water. 

“No, I keep checking, but there’s been nothing. Do you want to carry it?” 

“No,” she shook her head, “I trust you.”

He lit a cigarette and blew the smoke into the grate and they both watched it spiral up the chimney. Buffy didn’t feel like talking. She’d slept well, but this morning she felt dispirited and worried that having no means of knowing when a portal had been opened, or where, could mean their stay in hell was a permanent one. 

“C’mon Slayer,” Spike started dismantling the tent, “let’s get packed up and go find that human, I’m running low on blood.” 

Buffy knew joking was Spike’s motivational technique, and she did appreciate it, but really why couldn’t they stay in this house? They could clean it up, build a new roof and just stay. They had forever, because they were never leaving. Plenty of time to make this house a home.

“C’mon pet, let’s get this tent put away eh?” Buffy knew she should help him, but it was so cosy by the fire and they were only going to have to put the tent back up tonight, so it seemed simpler just to leave it standing.

“We’re not getting out of here, so why bother?” She’d miss Dawn and the babies most, but that was a small price to pay for eternity in this idyll. Spike was staring at her with concern. She assumed he was upset at the thought of never seeing Connor again, but she was sure he’d get over that. She’d help him. She reached out and squeezed his hand, “It’ll be okay Spike; we can make this place really nice. You saw what I did to your apartment. For a Slayer, I’m actually quite a good decorator.”

“Christ sakes Buffy,” Spike crouched down by her chair, “what’s wrong with you? We’re not staying here. The witch’ll fix the watch, we’ll find Blue and the ponce and then we’ll be on our way.” He stared into her face, and Buffy stared back, thinking how beautiful he was, as beautiful as this place. Stormy blue eyes, that sexy eyebrow scar and those luscious pouty lips. Eternity in hell wasn’t looking too bad. 

Spike left her sitting with her thoughts while he packed their belongings. When both packs were ready, he returned to crouch before her and said with a beaming smile, “I think staying here is a great idea, best you’ve had. Tell you what, why don’t we go looking for some supplies, so we can make this place right posh? We need drapes and rugs and all the fripperies. What you say, you up for gathering supplies?”

Buffy gasped and clapped her hands together. She thought this was a marvellous idea. She shouldered her backpack and followed Spike out of the house. She kept glancing back at the ruin, sad to leave such a magnificent piece of architecture, but happy to know she would be returning soon. All it needed was a lick of paint and it would be as good as new. She had eternity to devote to it and she knew just the wallpaper, the colour scheme for the bathroom, the perfect flooring for the hallway and the softest thickest carpet for the master bedroom…

Spike checked the watch repeatedly. Buffy wondered why he bothered, as he never saw those little golden sparks he said he was looking for. She could tell he was becoming increasingly disappointed so she cheered him up by telling him about all the housewares she wanted to buy and how they could spend their eternity in hell flipping houses. She really didn’t like the way he vamped out and smelled the air every few minutes, but was too happy to allow his constant eye rolling and vamp face to irritate her. 

“Buffy,” he grabbed her arm excitedly, “the scent, I know it. It’s Fred.”

“Uh huh,” she replied, no longer concerned about Spike and his scents. Pretty gross actually, sniffing the air and smelling people. 

Spike rolled his eyes and looked to the heavens. “C’mon.” He grabbed Buffy’s arm and began to pull her in the direction of the scent. A peeved Buffy pried her arm from his grip. “Will you stop pulling me like that,” she glared. “It’s absolutely pointless anyway, we’re never getting away from here.” Her face softened and she added, “Though I suppose it would be nice to have neighbours, for dinner parties and double dates.” 

They strolled on a little further, Buffy refusing to walk any faster, “I want to take in the glory of this landscape, isn’t it beautiful?” At one point they had to stop so Buffy could marvel at some yellow headed weeds that were spouting through the grass. 

It took them walking several miles further until Buffy began to regain some of her motivation, and suggested Spike may want to walk faster. He asked her how she was feeling and she replied, “Weird, like barn conversion had suddenly become my life’s work,” and a few minutes later, “Oh my God,” she grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop, “you smelled Fred?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “and she’s getting stronger.”

“What happened to me?” she asked, plucking yellow weeds from her hair. Spike went to remove one that had been tucked into her buttonhole, then seemed to think better of it.

Instead he put an arm around her shoulder and half hugged her, his relief palpable. “I think one of my nightmares came true.” Buffy stroked his arm, hating to see fear in his eyes, “But you’re back. We’re not getting trapped here, you’ll get us home.”

Buffy smiled and bumped him with her shoulder. It was good to know Spike liked her as she was and missed her when she wasn’t herself. He also had complete faith in her abilities to get them home, which pleased her more than she could say. Feeling strangely sentimental she told him, “You’re a good friend, maybe my best friend.”

Spike looked bashful then laughed and said, “Look around pet, not much competition is there?” 

Being away from the ruin and closer to Fred, Buffy felt far more motivated. Knowing Spike cared about her and could miss her, filled her with renewed hope. They always did work well together, even as enemies, their fights always energised and excited her. They complimented each other, understood the other’s abilities and made flaws into strengths. She looked at him now, vamp faced, determined to find Fred and prove himself useful. She wished she could tell him how much he meant to her. He might miss her if she weren’t here, but truth be told, she’d be lost without him; his vampire senses had been a blessing (could one be sacrilegious in hell she wondered), his snarky good humour, his unfailing belief in her and his ability to turn every negative into a positive to bolster her when she flagged. He was a good man.

“I see it,” he gasped, “she’s there.” He was pointing into the distance, and as usual, Buffy saw nothing but grey mist. Trusting him, she followed where he pointed, hoping this place didn’t move like the ruin had. Spike took another swallow of air, “Angel’s there,” he grinned back at her. “The ponce is in there with Fred.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her along.

They tripped and stumbled over the uneven ground for another half mile. Buffy’s legs and back were burning, having never walked so much as she had in these last few days, the backpack so heavy, its straps cutting into her shoulders. They were so close, she didn’t want to stop, she just wanted to reach the house. Spike described it to her as they got closer, “It’s like the ruin, but with roof and walls... There’s smoke in the chimney… Food cooking, Slayer, smells good… There’s blood too, animal…can you see it yet?” 

It wasn’t till they were a few feet from the property that Buffy finally saw it. Stone and brick, wood and slate, a strange looking dwelling, seemingly built from mismatched found items. There were windows that let in what little daylight there was, and she saw lamps and candles burning.

“Bloody hell,” Spike swore as he looked into the house. Buffy went to him and stared through the window. Inside she saw a table and chairs and on one of those chairs sat Angel, in vampire face, Fred sitting on his knee. His face was buried in her neck and he was drinking her.

Spike grabbed Buffy and pulled her away. “He’s not hurting her,” Spike whispered reassuringly.

“Does he know we’re here?” She didn’t want Angel to sense them, it felt too perverse. 

“No. Only thing he cares about is the blood.”

“Let’s wait until they’ve finished,” Buffy suggested, not wanting to disturb them during such an intimate act and not sure how she felt about witnessing it.


	14. Chapter 14

“Who’s out there?” came a woman’s voice, “I’m not scared of you!” Buffy thought the woman, Fred she assumed, sounded pretty scared. 

Spike and Buffy were still leaning against the wall of the house. They’d been sat there for two minutes, deciding what their next move should be. Spike made to stand at the sound of the woman’s voice but Buffy grabbed him and pulled him down. Her jaw set and her eyes wide, she hoped Spike would get the message to stay where he was.

“You’re making this worse than it is,” he whispered, his mouth close to her ear. “He’s a vampire, that’s what we do. She’s fine.”

Angel had drunk from her once, to save his life. She had to force him to do it and he’d despised himself for it. Rationally she knew they were in hell, forced into doing the unthinkable just to survive, but seeing Angel drink human blood disturbed her. She remembered Riley in that suck house, a vampire biting his arm. How sordid that had been. She was a Slayer, her life dedicated to slaying vampires and stopping them from feeding from humans and here was Angel doing just that. Something inside rebelled at the idea of it.

“It must hurt, seeing Angel...” Spike’s breath on her neck made her shiver.

“It’s not that,” she whispered, knowing Spike thought her reaction was simple jealousy. “It’s watching him feed, using her as food. I’m a Slayer. It’s wrong.” 

“You fed me once,” he said, his lips brushing her ear. She remembered. The guards at the camp had been withholding food and she’d let him feed from her. She’d hated seeing him so weakened, but it had been more than that. Letting him bite her had been a sign of her trust in him, letting him know without words how much she cared for him. Before she could explain that to him, Fred shouted again.

“I know you’re out there, go away!” 

Spike jumped to his feet and moved towards the open doorway, leaving Buffy bereft. Did Spike wonder what they’d do if they were trapped here forever and he too needed someone to feed from? She’d allowed it once, but they’d been lovers then. Was he worried that she wouldn’t allow it again now she’d admitted how sleazy she was by the act? She wished she could tell him that she still trusted him and that for her, nothing had changed.

“Fred, Fred, it’s me,” she heard him say.

“Spike?” Fred gasped his name and called, “Angel, it’s Spike, oh my god it’s Spike.” Buffy forced herself to join them at the cottage door. Fred let out a yell as she approached, “Oh god Buffy,” and she was wrapped in Fred’s pale thin arms. “Come inside, come inside,” she repeated, bubbling with happiness, pulling them in to the warmth of the cottage. 

That’s when she saw Angel. Only now, in the light, could she see what she’d not seen before. Angel had aged, his skin was wrinkled and grey, his body shrunken, his eyes watery and his hands speckled with liver spots. She gasped, shocked by the change in him. 

“You’re human?” she asked, looking from him to Fred. No, that didn’t make sense, but she couldn’t understand what she was seeing.

Angel shook his head and looked to Fred, who answered, “Oh no,” in her bright sweet Texas drawl, “Angel’s still undead, still a vampire, but without any of the plus points.” 

Buffy had known there must be very little food here, for human or vampire, but seeing Angel’s frailty she realised how hard it must have been for them. Fred must be his only permanent source of food, and she’d been made fragile by his feeding. She marvelled that they’d managed to survive like this for three years, even longer for them. She saw the look that passed between them, saw that Fred would do anything to keep Angel with her. She glanced at Spike, and wondered if she could do the same.

“You came. It’s good to see you.” Angel gave Buffy a wonky smile, a drop of dried blood at the corner of his mouth. She turned and saw a look of fear on Spike’s face, was he wondering if this was going to be his fate too?

“Sit,” Fred instructed, “tell us how you’re getting us home.”

Between them Spike and Buffy explained what had led up to their arrival. Angel sat silently, listening to every word. On occasion Fred chipped in; “I always felt sorry for Eve… Oh Willow, I’ll have to send her a basket … That swamp moves you know, sometimes you can’t step out of the front door… You were lucky in that wood, things live there… Sudden personality changes are a hazard here…”

When Spike mentioned the watch, Fred was eager to see it. She took it from him with shaky fingers. It was obvious she’d not been getting enough to eat, her skin grey and her bones all too visible under her papery skin. Buffy tried not to stare at the bite marks on her neck and arms.

Fred took the watch and moved to the other side of the table, closer to a lamp. She opened the lid and examined the workings. With effort, Angel stood and took a small box from the mantelpiece and passed it to her. It contained delicate homemade tools and with these, Fred began to take the watch apart. Buffy was afraid she might damage it further, and was about to stop her, but Spike put a restraining hand on her arm. He trusted Fred, so she should too. 

“So, you work with Connor?” Angel asked, drawing their attention away from Fred. Buffy looked down at her hands, braced on her knees. She had dreaded this moment. She wondered if Spike’s relationship with Connor was simply a way to punish Angel, but hated herself for thinking it. She needed Spike’s motives to be cruel and deceitful, to believe his relationship with Connor was unimportant, a diversion for Spike and just another way to hurt Angel. That way, she wouldn’t feel so horribly guilty for wanting him so badly, when he was in love with someone else.

“More than that,” Spike replied evenly. Buffy tightened her grip on her knees, there was no way Angel could misunderstand Spike’s meaning.

“You and my son?” Angel asked, obviously shocked, his voice as icy as Buffy had ever heard it. She saw Fred’s head lift and her startled eyes fix on him.

“He was lost.” Buffy heard self-righteous anger in Spike’s voice, “Looking for something. He found me. He could’ve found worse.” The two men were staring at each other, fury on Angel’s face. Without warning he leapt from his chair and swung with what little strength he had. The punch connected, Spike’s head flew back and blood spurted from his nose. He was on his feet instantly, pushing Angel backwards. He crashed into the table, rolled onto the floor and was too weak to rise. It happened so quickly, neither woman had moved. Spike stared down at the starving vampire. “Where were you? His whole life, where the fuck where you?” He turned and stalked out of the room.

Fred moved quickly then, running around the table and helping Angel to his feet. She manoeuvred him back to his chair and wrapped her arms around him. Fred was crying, but looking at Angel, Buffy saw it wasn’t comfort he needed. He wasn’t crying, he was wild with rage. She could tell that if he’d had the strength, he’d have beaten Spike to a bloody pulp.

Buffy left the house without a word and saw Spike stumbling away, cigarette smoke billowing around his head. She ran after him, desperate to console him and desperate to assuage her guilt. She caught his arm and pulled him around to face her. 

“Go back,” he shouted angrily, pushing her away.

“Not without you,” she yelled. He looked at her as if she were crazy. “Come back, please.” She grabbed at him again. “You’re a good man. Connor’s so lucky. You’re right to fight for him.” She was pleading, not sure she was making sense. She was overwhelmed by the situation and by her own guilt. She wanted to make it right. Spike loved Connor, she’d seen it in the tautness of his body, in the cadence of his voice, in his violence and now in his melancholy. She knew Spike in love, she’d seen it first hand - she was seeing it again now.

“What do you know?” he spat, “You always take his side.” He pointed an accusing finger towards the house. 

“I’m here with you, aren’t I?” she argued frantically, trying to grab Spike’s flailing arms. “Connor needs you. You can’t walk away.” 

“He doesn’t know who he is,” he said plaintively. “He tries to have this normal life, but there’s something compelling him. He has to find the monsters. He really is a good man.” 

“You’re a good man,” she repeated, meaning every word. But as if to make a liar of her, he bought forward his demon face. Buffy, not allowing herself to feel intimidated, took a step towards him. “Spike, you are a good man,” she said again, “no matter what face you wear.” She stared in to the demon’s sour yellow eyes, unable to look away, fearing that if she did, he’d see it as an act of rejection. 

“I can’t be what he needs.” Spike finally said, dropping his gaze and shaking off the demon. He lit a cigarette and threw the empty packet to the ground. “I hate and I love. Why do I do it? perhaps you ask; I do not know, but I feel it, and it is torture.”

Buffy recognised it as poetry, but she couldn’t name the poet. She wondered if it were one of Spike’s own, but didn’t ask. He was calm now, seemingly reconciled to the situation, so she gently took his hand and he allowed her to lead him back to the house. On entering, they were met by Angel’s angry glare and Fred’s apologetic smile. They’d obviously come to an agreement, as Angel remained silent.

“We have some food, and blood,” Buffy said, opening her backpack, “we’ll happily share.” She held the containers out to Fred, then pulled out the blood-stained pan, offering it up. Fred took the items from her and busied herself by the open fire. Once warmed, she poured the blood into bowls and handed one to each vampire. They both mumbled their thanks. 

“I’m sorry about what happened earlier,” Buffy began, ignoring Spike’s angry look. He hadn’t intended to apologise. “But you didn’t let Spike finish,” directing this at Angel. “A week ago, Connor was attacked by a demon. He’s very ill Angel. That’s why Spike’s here.” Angel lent forward in his chair, the blood forgotten, a look of horror on his face. “The Watcher’s Council and Willow are working on a cure.” She gave Spike a hopeful smile. “But we need to get you back so you can see your son.”

“We need to move,” Angel’s voice broke. “We need to get out of here. I need to see Connor.”

“The watch,” Fred said quietly, “I’ve examined it and there’s nothing wrong. Whatever the problem with the portal, it isn’t that watch.”

“Then what the hell is it?” shouted Angel. The room fell silent. Angel’s anger was fierce and made them all uneasy. Fred reached out a hand and stroked his head, like a mother soothing a distraught child. “Sorry. Sorry,” he said, rubbing his eyes. Buffy looked away, the emotion too much for her. She thought of Dawn and how broken she’d been when she thought she’d lost her. It had been unbearable.

“It must be something back in our dimension,” Fred said, her voice still quiet but with a new authority. “It’s either the actual portal and some issue with reaching this dimension. But that’s not likely. Even if it keeps moving, Willow has the original co-ordinates, she can extrapolate from them.” She thought for a second or two, then said. “If you want my opinion?” They stared, her opinion being the only one that mattered. “I think it’s human error. Something stopping your sister opening a portal.”

There was silence while they all considered Fred’s theory. Angel asked, “But what about Willow? She can open portals, can’t she?” He was looking at Buffy, who nodded. Willow could easily open a portal, but Buffy’s mind was on Dawn, what had happened to her? Was she ok?

“The problem there,” Fred explained, sounding increasingly like the scientist she was, “is a design flaw in the watch and compass. Both are magically made to correlate to portals opened by one person. They’re linked only to her. Willow can open as many portals as she wants, the watch simply wouldn’t recognise them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poetry that Spike quotes in this chapter is from Catullus 85 by Roman poet Catullus


	15. Chapter 15

“What the hell do we do?” Spike’s question was met with silence. Fred went back to the fire and warmed one of Dawn’s concoctions, adding a few of their own leftovers, stretching it to feed both herself and Buffy.

“Anyone?” Spike stood and looked at Buffy, who was picking at her nails. He paced the length of the cottage, ran his hands over the walls, picked items up from the shelves, wiped his hand over the glass of the windows and stared out into nothingness. 

“Buffy?” he was looking to her for answers but she had none to give. She lifted her worried face and shook her head. Her only thought was of Dawn and what could have happened to stop her opening the promised portal. “Christ.” Spike sat down beside her, “I’m sorry luv, I didn’t think. Dawnie?”

Buffy nodded. She was worried that something had happened to the baby or perhaps to Xander or Joycie. It had to be something serious for Dawn not to open a portal, leaving them trapped in a hell dimension. 

“I bet The Bit’s had that baby, ‘eh Slayer?” Spike said breezily, his previous anxiety completely dispelled. He said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and everyone else was stupid for not thinking of it.

“She’s not due till the 28th and I’m sure it’s not the 28th yet,” Buffy replied testily, but could it be possible? She couldn’t quite remember what the current date was, but it made sense that if Dawn were in labour, she wouldn’t be able to open a portal. 

“Due dates are incredibly imprecise,” Fred said, stirring their meal in a large pan. “In fact, only 4% of babies are born on the predicted day. Many arrive two weeks early.” She began spooning the food into bowls. 

“Bet it’s the baby,” Spike reiterated, “and there’ll be another portal opened any day.” Buffy hoped he was right and there hadn’t been any complications. Joycie’s delivery had been a long one, but she’d been told first babies usually are. Maybe the second one was quicker? “Like shelling peas,” Spike explained confidently, though Buffy knew he had as much knowledge of childbirth as she did.

The women ate their meal, and the four of them discussed what their next move should be. After some debate they agreed that if the issue was Dawn being in labour then they should wait it out for two days. If the watch didn’t signal the opening of a portal after that, they’d start looking for one. The discussions were amicable and Spike and Angel appeared to have made a silent pact to be civil to each other, at least until they returned to their own dimension.

“How come there’s only you here?” Spike asked Fred, as Angel took the empty pots to a make-shift wash stand and rinsed them. “Where’s Illyria?”

“And how have you survived for three years in this wasteland?” Buffy added, not sure she would have survived at all.

“Illyria vanished on the eleventh day.” Fred said, as if telling an epic tale, enjoying having a new audience to share it with. Buffy noted how affectionately Angel looked at Fred as she spoke and how ironic that Angel found happiness in a hell dimension.

“She fought the demons’ day and night when the portal first closed,” Fred continued. “This was mainly desert back then. Not that it bothered Illyria, she’d have fought on any terrain. Her only thought was to destroy the demons. The battle lasted days, but eventually she was victorious. Yay Illyria.” Fred giggled charmingly and Buffy saw that even Spike seemed quite enthralled by her storytelling.

“Then things started changing. Illyria’s powers began to decline and I had to come out more often. Eventually her powers disappeared altogether, then she vanished and I was left alone. The desert started to recede and gradually mountains and caves began to appear. Same with the second sun, it got brighter over time and I realised this place was turning into Pylea.”

Buffy asked what that was and Fred explained, “It’s another hell dimension, one I was trapped in for five years. The Pyleans enslave humans, so when they began appearing, I knew I was in trouble. They started to hunt me like I was an animal. It was pretty terrifying I can tell you.” Although she was smiling, Buffy guessed how scared she must have been. 

“At least they had food,” Angel sat down again, seemingly worn out from washing the pots.

“Oh sure, they had food, they grew things and had other livestock, so I only went a little less hungry then I do now,” she patted Angel’s hand. “Then Angel showed up.”

“It took me a while to find her.” Angel took over the story. “I didn’t know where the hell I was. Things move, it’s really confusing. Then I recognised the Pyleans and I knew this had to be Fred’s hell. Guessed she must be hiding in the caves.”

“Which totally spoilt your plan,” Fred interrupted. 

“I’d planned on Illyria using her powers to get us out of here, not knowing she’d gone AWOL before I even arrived.” 

“Had you researched this place before you jumped?” Buffy asked. 

“No,” he said a little sheepishly, “I thought I’d just grab Illyria, maybe help her fight whatever demons were left, she’d open a portal and we’d jump straight back. No need for research.”

“Idiot,” Spike whispered, loud enough for Angel to give him a look of intense irritation. 

“Anyway,” Fred jumped in, “the landscape began to change, the meadows became swamps and the Pyleans began to disappear. It was a slow process, but I knew there was someone else here, which gave me hope that one day I might be rescued.”

“So, Angel,” Spike asked brazenly, “is this landscape a particular fear of yours?” Fred put a comforting hand on Angel’s shoulder.

“When I became a vampire, I did what most of us do, I killed my family.” He looked pointedly at Spike, who nodded in understanding and looked a little shamefaced. “Now they visit me. I hear them in the rain and I see them walking the marshlands. My father calls to me while he cuts the turf.” He rubbed a hand over his face obviously distressed. “There’s others too. Not ones I’ve killed, but people I care about. I see them dying and I can’t save them.”

Buffy felt a wave of compassion for him. She imagined not being able to save the ones you loved, having to watch them die over and over. She realised that it wasn’t only the lack of food, but the horrors he’d seen that made him look so emaciated and broken. “Your soul?” she asked warily.

“It used to disappear,” Fred replied, as Angel seemed in too much discomfort to answer. “He’d go hunting. He’d kill travellers if he came across them. But there’s not many. He’d hallucinate killing others, people he knew. Me, sometimes.”

“Sometimes not an hallucination,” Angel said, his voice low. “Sometimes I’d kill her, sometimes I’d turn her. But she always came back. So did my soul, so I could keep reliving it.”

Spike looked at Angel in horror. Buffy took his hand, trying to reassure him. He gripped it tightly and stared at Angel, who couldn’t meet his eye. Spike understood the enormity of losing your soul and his look of horror turned to one of pity. 

“It’s too soon for you Spike.” Fred’s words were chilling, “This place, it’s only just starting to notice you.”

The words sounded so ominous; Buffy felt a wave of fear overtake her. She was confident in her abilities and knew she could overcome most things. But this was an enemy she couldn’t fight with weapons. This was something that could change her from the inside, turn her into a different person. How could she fight something that had so much power over her? How could she protect Spike if he lost his soul? Would he kill her, as Angel had killed Fred, over and over? She wondered what it would feel like, Spike ripping her throat out, revelling in her pain, listening for that final beat of her heart and glorying in her death. Or maybe she’d best him, cut his head off with her scythe and watch him crumble into dust. 

“Once the Pyleans began to disappear,” Fred broke into her thoughts, changing the subject to something more mundane, “so did the food. We moved into this house before it sunk into the marshland and taking possession of it seemed to make it ours, so it stood while everything else fell. We’ve planted seeds, but the crops are always poor. Too much rain, not enough sun. Enough to keep us subsisting, but nothing more.”

“But there’s others here?” Buffy hoped the ‘others’ Angel killed weren’t actually real.

“Unfortunately. You might meet them. We call them travellers. They’re trapped here same as us,” Fred sounded wistful. “They bring their hell with them, so you’ll know when they’re on their way. Trouble is, most of them are crazy.” 

Buffy thought this place was already making them crazy and they’d only been here a few days. Hadn’t they? Had it been two days or three? She wasn’t sure anymore, but she was certain she would never stop looking for a portal home. 

A little later Fred took them outside and showed them the well where she got the fresh water. She doubted it was all that fresh she said, but she had no way of purifying it, so it would have to do. She spoke so cheerfully Buffy suspected this place had already driven Fred insane. She even giggled when warning them the well moved occasionally, ‘so some days you just gotta go hunting for it’.

When they returned, Angel had moved the furniture against the walls and made space for them to lay out their sleeping bags. They said their goodnights and Buffy tucked herself into her sleeping bag. Spike sat by the fire a little longer.

“Not sleepy?” she asked.

“Nah. Need a smoke before bed, but I’ve run out.”

“Is that a pun, with you sitting so close to the fire?” 

“Yeah, if you think it makes me sound smart,” he smiled.

“You’re already the smartest man I know,” Buffy said affectionately, wanting him to understand how grateful she was that he was here, not sure she could have coped so well without him. She turned onto her side and closed her eyes, expecting Spike to ignore the comment, or make a joke, afraid to make their conversations too intimate. But he surprised her.

“Smartest man you know ‘eh?” He climbed into the other sleeping bag and turned towards her. “Also, the most terrified,” he whispered. Buffy turned and looked at him, his face a jumble of light and shadow, lit by the last of the firelight. “If I lose my soul Buffy…”

“Not going to happen,” she whispered back. “Dawnie will have that baby and get us out of here tomorrow. Besides, you heard Fred, it didn’t happen to Angel overnight.” Spike reached out and gently stroked her cheek, his hand soft and cool. Unexpected tears pricked her eyes but she blinked them away before they fell. He withdrew his hand, rolled onto his back and closed his eyes.

Buffy hadn’t wanted to tell him of her own fears; that she might lose her powers, become his endless victim, see ghosts of the dead…

“William,” he said into the half-dark, “good name for a boy.” 

Buffy momentarily forgot her nightmares and laughed, thinking of Xander’s reaction to naming his child after Spike. She closed her eyes and turned away from him. She didn’t need to see him to know he was right there with her.


	16. Chapter 16

Buffy felt him heavy against her back, his head in the crook of her shoulder, his body pressed against hers. She couldn’t make out his contours through the sleeping bags, but he felt as he always had, he felt right. She closed her eyes and moulded herself into his body. When she woke again, he’d gone.

That morning she was on edge, watching Angel, waiting for him to change. Perhaps he sensed her wariness because he left the cottage early and didn’t reappear till the evening. Fred had sent him to find fruit or vegetables. She said he went foraging regularly, it’s how they got most of their food. 

Buffy asked Fred if was okay by himself. “He sees things. At first, he used to run back to me, completely convinced he’d killed someone. He handles it better now,” Fred explained.

She had tasked Spike to scrubbing pans and he was sat just outside the doorway trying to avoid the drizzle, a bowl of water between his feet. He was scrubbing one pan at a time, happily sloshing water over the sides of the bowl. Buffy lent against the door and watched him for a while, laughing when he flicked water at her. 

It was then she saw it. The rain fell and through it the land seemed to undulate, and from it grew a shadow. It was moving towards her, deliberate in its step. She couldn’t look away, it was mesmerising in its savagery. She could feel its need for her. It wanted to rip her apart, make her its own, make her a thing. She couldn’t move, it was filling her head with vile tortuous images, each worse that the last and she couldn’t make it stop. She must have cried out because Spike was holding her, pulling her into the house. He and Fred were talking, asking questions that she couldn’t answer. Fred poured her some foul-smelling tea and Spike kept his arms around her as she tried to drink it.

“I don’t know what it was,” she told them through terrified sobs. “It was a shape, a feeling. I knew it wanted to hurt me. I couldn’t fight it.”

“It’s alright Buffy, it’s alright.” He sounded more panicked then she’d ever heard him, his arm still around her, his hand stroking her arm, soothing her. 

They spent the rest of the day in the house, Buffy felt too shaken to venture outside. Fred told her that she hadn’t gone farther than the well in two years, too scared the Pyleans would return and kidnap her. “I used to go further afield,” she said, her voice eerie and unnatural, “but they’d find me and torture me.” Goosebumps rose on Buffy’s arms and she felt suddenly hopeless. If they were trapped here, her life would be spent in a place like this, too terrified to go further than the well every day. 

The day passed in short bursts of activity and long hours of nothingness. To relieve his boredom, Spike checked the watch constantly. He’d feed it through his fingers, turn it over, flip the lid open, check the time and then shut it again. It was a dance he did with the damn thing and it drove Buffy crazy. “You keep it then,” he snapped, slamming it down on the table. “Don’t break it,” she’d shouted angrily. 

Fred and Spike talked about Wolfram and Hart, Buffy feeling excluded. She began to wonder how close Spike and Fred had been. Did Spike have feelings for the woman? She began to feel jealous and angry and was pleased when Angel returned, knowing Spike would be more reticent in his presence. 

They ate a scant meal of vegetables, Spike and Angel shared a bowl full of blood. They were mostly silent, having little of interest to say to each other and no enthusiasm for conversation. Eventually the day ended and Buffy and Spike were alone in their sleeping bags. 

“No more shadows?” Spike asked. He was lying beside her, comfortably close.

She shook her head, looking into his worried face. She reached out and stroked the scar above his eye. She thought he might pull away, but he didn’t, he allowed her fingers to stroke his cheekbones, his nose, his chin. She needed to touch him, feel something real and solid and good, to drive the shadowman from her mind. She rose onto her elbow, closed her eyes and put her lips softly to his.

He moved his head then and she whispered, “Only for now.” Neither of them spoke again. They kissed opened mouthed, wrapped in each other’s arms Buffy felt safe. She was dizzy with him and felt clumsy under his graceful fingers and searching mouth. She pulled him to her, needing to feel his weight pressing her down, holding her still, until it became unbearable. She twisted in his grasp and he opened her wide to taste her sweetness. They moved together, surged and stilled, teased and quickened. She lapped at his body, tasted his velvet skin, sucked and bit those places that had been lost to her. She gathered him and made him gasp. He lifted her hips and wrapped her around him. Afterwards she pushed him away, not able to breathe, the pleasure overwhelming. Then she felt the distance was too great and she pulled him close again. She stroked his blissful face and kissed each eyelid and he ran his knuckles over her breasts and belly. Over and over they met in helpless wanting until there was no more grief, no more loss and no more distance between them.

Slowly he rolled away from her and lay on his back, staring at the timbered roof. She pulled the sleeping bag around herself, and stretched out her exhausted limbs. She refused to feel ashamed by what they’d done, it had been too perfect for that. She’d needed him to help fight the monster in her head, but more than that she simply wanted him. She’d wanted him since the moment he’d left her. She’d spent endless nights dreaming of this, the taste of his skin, his fingers caressing her, his mouth on her body…

“I love you,” he said, as though the words had been unwillingly torn from him. So painful to say, he couldn’t look at her. “I don’t know what to do.” 

“This doesn’t have to mean anything,” she whispered, though it meant everything to her. “We’re in hell, we turned to each other for comfort, anyone would understand that.” 

He moved quickly, pushing her away so he could see her face when he asked, “Do you love me? Did you ever?”

“More than anything,” she answered truthfully, her blazing eyes never leaving his. “That’s why I didn’t want you to leave, I still wanted you. I always will.” 

“You did, did you?” he said scornfully, pushing her away. “Should have let me into the secret.” He lay down on his sleeping bag and flung his arm over his face.

Buffy stared at the same timbered roof Spike had stared at, but it gave her no clues. She wanted him so much, but all she did was hurt him. She put her own selfish needs first, knowing he had someone else. He should hate her, but he still loved her. Round and round and round they went. Why did it have to be so damn complicated? 

She must have slept, because she woke up. Something was buzzing, it sounded like distant fireworks going off … The watch! The fire had gone out and there was little light in the room, but finally she found her jeans, rummaged in the pockets and found it. She flicked the lid open and could only stare in wonder at what she saw. Two faces dancing around each other, one cornflower blue telling her it was 04:11am, the other a golden yellow telling her the portal would be closed at 09:15. 

She kicked out her leg, trying to wake a sleeping Spike. He grunted at her angrily, but once he saw the watch, he seemed to forget the previous night’s conversations and they just grinned at each other like fools. 

“That’s only five hours, not long.” The two of them quickly scrambled into their clothes. Spike banged on Angel and Fred’s bedroom door, “Rise and shine kiddies. The beacon’s afire. C’mon.” 

“It’s so dark, do you think it’ll be safe?” She thought of the shadowman waiting for her, and shivered. 

“Probably not,” he said, staring out of the window into the blackness, “but we have to try.” Buffy dampened down her fear, knowing Spike was right. Whatever was out there, they had to face it or they’d never escape.  
Fred stood at the bedroom door looking at the two of them, shouldering their backpacks, ready to go. “I can’t,” she said quietly, “I daren’t.” She sat by the hearth and began to make a fire. Buffy was too stunned to speak. She turned to Spike, who shook his head, and nodded towards the door, wanting to leave Angel to try and reason with her. 

“Fred, we can’t stay here,” Angel said, joining her by the fire. “This is our only chance. We have to take it.” He was crouched besides her, stroking her hair, whispering gently to her.

Spike had opened the door and Buffy came to stand next to him. It was pitch black, there were no stars and clouds covered the moon. “See anything?” 

“Nothing,” Spike had vamped out and was scenting the air, “don’t smell anything either.” She was scared of seeing the shadowman again and with Fred dragging her heels, it all added to her sense of unease. She looked back to the couple at the fireside, still deep in conversation, then to the vampire stood beside her, jonesing for a cigarette he didn’t have. She thought this might be her last chance to speak privately to him, so she took his arm and manoeuvred him away from the doorway. He followed her easily.

“We could be home in a few hours,” she said, wondering if he could hear how fast her heart was beating. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am that I’ve complicated your life. My life is hard, you know cos you’ve lived it and sometimes I don’t deal with things very well, but I love you so much Spike, more than I can say and I know you love me, so we have to work this out. If you can’t forgive me, it’ll hurt, but I’ll learn to accept it. Just know that no matter how sappy it sounds; I’ll always be here for you.”

It was too dark to read his expression and he said nothing. Her heart sank at his silence and she berated herself for expecting too much. There was nothing he could possibly say that would make this right, because someone was going to be hurt, and maybe she deserved it to be her.


	17. Chapter 17

Buffy left Spike outside and returned to the house. Fred and Angel were still sat by the fire. Angel was holding Fred’s hands and she seemed to be struggling to pull away. Buffy watched them wrestle for a second but felt as if she were intruding so she returned to the open doorway. Spike was leaning against the wall, so she joined him.

“They still at it?” he asked. She nodded. “We’ve got to move soon Slayer,” he said impatiently and she didn’t disagree, but she did have sympathy for Fred, now she knew the evil that was out there. She stole a glance at Spike, who was staring out in to nothingness, and was suddenly certain he’d go back to LA when this was all over. She hoped he’d let her down gently, though she felt undeserving of his tenderness.

Leaving him to his thoughts, she returned to the cottage. Angel was slumped at the table, his head in his hands, while Fred was preparing a meagre breakfast.

“She wants to wait for the next portal to open,” Angel said despairingly, not lifting his head.

“Now the portals have reappeared, statistically some of them should open in daylight,” Fred explained, pouring warmed blood into bowls and putting them on the table. Buffy stared at her in amazement. Fred wanted Dawn to keep opening portals until she opened one that Fred thought suitable. She was crazy. They could be here for weeks, months. This place might already understand what was happening and play on Fred’s fear; anytime a portal opened, the world could go dark. Fred was asking the impossible. 

“Statistically?” Spike said gently mocking, “You’re not daft Fred, you know we can’t wait.” 

“Spike...” Even though Spike’s tone had been kind, Angel said his name as a warning. He wouldn’t allow Spike to pressure Fred. Buffy moved between the two vampires. The last thing they needed was another fist fight. Fred burst into tears and Angel immediately forget Spike. He moved quickly to Fred’s side and took her in his arms, whispering soothing words.

While Angel comforted Fred, Spike began opening cupboards and boxes, placing the things he found on the table. “Look Fred, be sensible now. We can take a few things with us,” he held up a torn piece of material that could have been anything or nothing, “I’ll carry it safe in my pack. What do you say Fred, shall we be merrily on our way?” 

“I know you’re making fun of me, but when you have nothing, the littlest things mean a lot,” Fred said, drying her eyes. Buffy thought how sad and pitiful she sounded and her heart went out to her. She too might feel the same after three years in hell. Dragging Fred from her home suddenly felt such a cruel thing to do. 

“Not making fun of you,” Spike said, sounding crestfallen, “I just want to get us home Fred. Don’t you want to go home?” The three of them watched Fred as she appeared to be debating with herself. Buffy wanted to go home, even if that meant losing Spike, but she could see that for Fred, the choice between home and hell had become a difficult one.

“Will you still love me?” she asked Angel, surprising them all. 

“How can you even ask?” Shocked, he hugged her closer and kissed the top of her head.

It was Spike who asked, “Illyria won’t change that, will she, Angel?” Spike had understood immediately what Fred had left unsaid. She was scared that Angel wouldn’t want her, once Illyria returned. 

Buffy looked at Spike and whispered, “See, smartest man I know.” 

“We’ll give you some peace,” Spike said, lifting his backpack on to his shoulder and nodding to Buffy to do the same. The two of them went outside and waited.

Spike flipped over the watch and showed it to Buffy. They had just under four hours to make it to the portal. Her heart sank, there was no way they’d do it. She could only hope that if they started walking, they’d be nearer the next time. “I guess we could wait till it’s light,” she said, “make Fred feel more comfortable? At least we’ll be heading in the right direction.”

“We could,” Spike said, “but if she’s half-hearted she’ll only slow us down. Dawn said these portals won’t open in exactly the same place, and with everything always bloody moving, we need to walk when the watch tells us, or we’ll keep missing them.” 

“Poor Fred,” Buffy said sadly, thinking of her being forced into sharing Angel again. “Hope she’s okay in there.” She could hear the couple talking, but couldn’t make out the words. 

“Yeah,” Spike nodded, “hard to love two people at a time I expect.” Buffy plucked at a stray strand of cotton on her shirt. She knew they weren’t talking about Angel and Fred anymore.

“Must be,” she replied cautiously.

“Sometimes you feel so empty,” he continued, “you need to be with someone who’s as lost as you.”

“I get that,” she said, understanding that sometimes you’re drawn to the right people for the wrong reasons. 

Spike took her hand and turned it over, stroking his thumb over her palm. She shivered at his touch. “Connor and I, we were both looking for something we couldn’t find. Saw a dream of it in each other. Called it love for want of a better word.”

Was this poetry again, she wasn’t sure. She did know that dreams didn’t sustain and guessed Spike knew that too. Connor was looking for a link to the past and his parents. Connor was a fighter, born with a destiny, she could imagine Spike being drawn to someone like that. 

“It’s getting lighter,” he said, letting go of her hand. Buffy didn’t reply, knowing that was meant to end their conversation. Her hand still tingled where he’d stroked it.

The lighter sky and her conversation with Angel must have helped Fred to come to a decision, as she and Angel appeared at the doorway. “We thought about burning it down,” Angel remarked, stony faced, looking gloomily back at the house. He and Fred weren’t carrying much, but Angel had Fred’s box of homemade tools.

“I thought a traveller might come along and take it for their own,” Fred said, thinking of other lost souls. 

Buffy stood and took the watch from her pocket and held it out to Fred. “You should have this. You should lead us out of here.” Fred opened it and looked in awe at the colourful watch faces and the bright shooting stars. 

“Thank you, Buffy.”

Although it was lighter than it had been, it was still raining fitfully and visibility was low. Spike was in vamp face and could see further and hear more, but there was little to see or hear. Fred walked next to him, the watch held high, she was constantly checking the arrow. It pointed westwards and the four followed it. 

The ground began to turn icy and Fred slipped, Spike just catching her before she fell. “There might be a traveller nearby,” Angel said, explaining why the weather and landscape was changing. Buffy pulled her coat tighter around her. The rain had stopped, but none of them would dry in this frozen winter land. 

“There are trees up ahead,” Spike called. The others could only make out shadows and Buffy feared at first it was shadowmen coming for her. She gripped a dagger she had in her pocket for comfort. Slowly the ice had ebbed away, but the ground was still hard and cold beneath their feet. 

Fred needed a rest and so they stopped and sat for a few minutes. Out of her pocket she took a container, and handed it to Spike. It contained blood, cooled now. It was the breakfast she’d been warming before they’d left. “Shame to waste it,” she said. Spike took a welcome mouthful and handed it to Angel who finished it off. 

Buffy was surprised that it hadn’t taken them longer to reach the trees, but assumed they’d moved closer. She was just wondering why they’d do that, when she saw something out of the corner of her eye. It was a flicker, a movement that felt out of place. She’d been wearing her scythe on her back, hooked over her backpack, but now she moved it to the front of her body, where she could hold it. Only other slayers would understand the power she felt emanating from the weapon, how connected she felt to it and how it somehow made her feel stronger.

Spike and Fred stopped and Spike whispered, “Can you feel it?” Buffy nodded and pointed to the trees on her right.

“Angel, take Fred and keep following the compass,” she ordered. He looked at her blankly. “Vampires,” she mouthed. Angel took Fred’s hand and said, “We’ll wait at the portal.” 

“If we don’t make it in time, don’t wait for us. Promise me,” Buffy demanded. 

“We’ll leave the watch,” he said, agreeing he and Fred would jump if time was running out. They all knew there was no guarantee they’d ever find the watch. Angel and Fred wished them luck and walked westward, leaving them behind. Buffy hoped they could at least hold the vampires off and give the couple time to make it to the portal. Only a minute after Fred and Angel disappeared from view, the vampires attacked.

The first kick seemed to came out of nowhere. The snap of a vampire’s boot to the middle of her back sent her reeling. She grabbed the scythe and tried to collect herself. Another boot hit the back of her knee and she fell forward. Rolling onto her back she struggled out of her back pack, kicking her legs to fend off blows. She could see them now, definitely vampires but she couldn’t be sure how many. She struggled to stand and using the scythe she managed to dispatch two of them. Another punched her hard, the force made her head ring. 

More vampires appeared. She staked one and sent another flying. She was struck by a dizzying flurry of punches. Her teeth were rattling and she thought a couple of ribs had been broken. She couldn’t see Spike anywhere. The vampires were forcing her backwards, out of the trees and to what had been icy ground, but was now simply hardened. Another fist slammed into her mouth and she whirled around, falling into a tree. She kicked out again, but blood was in her eyes and she couldn’t see. 

She was hit at the back of the head by what felt like a hammer, the pain was shattering and she thought she might pass out. Five vampires circled her, they were relentless, throwing punches and kicks. She fended them off, dusting two with the scythe, but more kept coming and her head hurt so much. Where was Spike? Another fist hit her above the eye and she staggered further into open land. Then she saw him, still in the trees, surrounded by vampires. She thought she screamed, but it could have been one of her attackers. It could have been Spike.

She went down again, she was tiring, she struggled to rise and the scythe had fallen from her hands. She made to grab for it but her head was throbbing and she was off balance. She tried again, pushing her attackers away, stabbing at them with her dagger. She managed to get her fingertips to the scythe and swing it as high and as hard as she could. She dusted one and caused two more to fall to their knees. God her head hurt so bad, she felt as if she were underwater and couldn’t think straight… 

Then an arm was around her throat, dragging her backwards. Her heels scraping along the ground. She saw her scythe a few feet away, but then it vanished in the mist. She was losing too much blood. She could feel it, trickling down her back and between her breasts. Her face was greasy with it and she could hardly open her eyes. 

She didn’t know how long she’d been fighting. Her bones were smashed and she thought her skull was fractured and imagined the back of her head was missing, her brain open to the rain. She could hear Spike screaming her name. She’d never heard him sound so crazed. Then she felt the vampire’s teeth in her neck.

The pain was unbearable. She clawed at its face, but he didn’t stop. She opened her eyes, sticky with blood, and saw Spike. He’d picked up her scythe and was swinging it frantically. He looked mad, his eyes wild. He dusted one then another, then screamed as he swung the blade at the vampire holding her.


	18. Chapter 18

Someone was wiping her face and calling her name. She wanted to say, ‘please don’t touch me, it hurts too much,’ but all she could do was moan. She knew she was being carried because it felt so uncomfortable. Moments later they stopped and she was laid on the ground. Something was being wrapped around her neck. 

“Buffy, can you open your eyes luv?” She recognised Spike’s voice, and opened her eyes. He looked scared, bruised and was covered in blood.

“My head…” she tried to say, but her jaw was too damaged to talk. She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, it was without being asked. She looked up into his face and saw he’d been crying, there were tear tracks in the blood. She said his name and he looked down at her, he tried to smile but she could tell it was a lie. 

“They’re gone for now, but they might be back,” he warned. He was in vamp face and moving as quickly as he could, tripping occasionally as the ground got rockier. She tried to say she’d run away next time, but she still couldn’t talk and her words sounded like dull moans. 

“Haven’t seen Angel or Fred.” He talked to sooth himself. She didn’t mind, she liked his voice. “Think they got away… following Angel’s scent… I was worried… so much blood.”

When she next awoke, they’d slowed again and the ground had become steeper. “Spike,” she could form words now, though it was still painful.  
“Hello sleepyhead,” he smiled a real smile. “Feeling better?” She could feel fresh scalp growing and knitting together and hoped she wouldn’t have a bald spot. 

“Better,” she mumbled. “Teeth growing in.” She studied his bruised face and saw blood had settled in the creases around his eyes. “How did I survive?” she asked. 

“I got to you.” He sounded bewildered, as if he didn’t quite believe it. “I don’t know how, but I dusted the buggers then picked you up and ran.” 

She pictured him with the scythe, swinging it above his head and bringing it down on the vampires’ necks. Crouching low he’d swung, cutting away their legs so they fell screaming. He’d been screaming too. He’d been out of control, deranged by fear. She wanted to weep, thinking of him like that. He’d been so frantic, so terrified he’d lose her and she couldn’t help thinking that maybe he had.

“So scared…,” he said quietly and began running again. Her pain was worse when he ran, but she knew he had to. She felt every bump and jolt as he ran over the uneven ground. Her arms and hands too broken to cling to him, but he held her so tightly she knew she wouldn’t fall.

“They’re close,” he said finally. Relief rushed over her and she prayed they’d be in time. She didn’t want to spend one more night here and maybe have to face that horde again. She was too weakened to fight and Spike might not be able to save them next time. She wondered if that was the point, that Spike couldn’t save her, she thought of the terror on his face and knew that for him, hell had been to watch her die.

“Spike, did I die?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.

“Let’s not talk about that,” he replied, a muscle jumping in his jaw. She’d known her death would devastate him, she just hadn’t realised how deep the fear went and how terrified he was of losing her, so terrified he couldn’t even face the truth.

“At least I came back,” she tried to smile, “it’s like I’m haunting you.” She hoped joking about it would make it easier for him.

“It’s started.” She’d never heard him sound so disturbed. “I don’t care if I’m dusted. Already had the ghosts of my victims visit, we had a grand old time. But seeing you hurt… How long will it be before I’m the one hurting you?”  
“We’ll be out of here long before then, and even if we aren’t…”  
“What? You’ll chop my sodding head off?” He stopped and looked down at her. His face was bloody, his eyes blackened, there were purple bruises along his jaw and Buffy could only wonder where he’d found the strength to pick up her lifeless body and run. 

“If I have to,” she tried to smile. “Besides, I came back, so you might too.” Spike looked even more distraught and Buffy wished she hadn’t said anything. She’d wanted him to smile, to see the joke of it. This wasn’t real, they were just pawn’s in some vicious game, which she was sure they’d eventually escape. 

“What if you hadn’t come back and I got out of here? What would I tell Dawn?” He sounded so anguished Buffy’s heart ached for him. Some of her fingers still felt broken, but she raised her hand and touched his face. He closed his eyes and began to cry. “I couldn’t go back without you. I wouldn’t want to.” She let her hand fall. He didn’t need her to say anything, he just needed her to live, so she closed her eyes and concentrated on letting her bones mend.

They journeyed in silence for a while until Spike suddenly picked up the pace and called out Angel’s name. Thank god, Buffy thought, they must be near the portal. “They’ve stopped, they’re waiting for us.” Spike sounded elated and Buffy could have cried with relief, but it would have hurt too much. She just allowed herself to be bounded about in Spike’s arms as he sprinted as fast as he could. By the time he slowed, every muscle and sinew ached, but she was so happy to see Angel, Fred and the watch, that she didn’t care.

Fred gasped at the extent of their injures and wanted to dress some of Buffy’s wounds. Spike wouldn’t allow it, there wasn’t enough time. Fred still had the compass held high so Buffy could see the golden lights dimming and the tiny stars fading. 

“It must be just here,” Fred said, “we’ve got about twenty minutes.”

“There!” shouted Spike, bolting ahead. Then she saw it, shimmering lights in the gloom. A beautiful circle of reds and yellows, radiating so much heat, it warmed her face. “Go, go,” Spike ordered. Fred passed the watch to Buffy and jumped. Angel put his hand on Spike’s shoulder and Spike nodded. Buffy didn’t know what passed between the two, but they seemed to understand each other. Angel stepped through the portal and vanished.

“You don’t want to be carried, do you?” Spike asked, easing Buffy’s feet to the floor. Although it was hard to stand, she appreciated the gesture.

“As long as you’re here to hold me up,” she leaned into his side and they walked through the portal together.

One moment they were in the silence of hell, the next in Xander’s garage, surrounded by so much noise and chatter Buffy couldn’t focus. Everything happened at once. Xander lifted her into his arms and carried her through the house, placed her gently on the couch, and covered her with a blanket. Willow began taking off her boots and peeling off her wet socks. 

“My foot’s broken,” she said and Willow made a silly joke about it being her left one, but she was extra careful. There was a bowl of warm water and someone was wiping the blood from her face and hands. “We made it,” she said when she realised it was Spike.

“We did at that,” he replied, his eyes shining with relief.

“I should be doing this for you,” she suggested as he wiped blood from her chin and neck. Dawn appeared, and gingerly hugged her. “The baby?” Buffy asked, once Dawn had released her.

“He’s upstairs sleeping, you’ll meet him soon. We called him Michael, and he is such a cutie Buffy.”

Willow bought her a cup of tea and forced her to drink it, saying it would help with the healing. Spike helped her hold the mug as her hands weren’t completely healed. Fred, dressed in a fluffy pink dressing gown after having a hot shower, joined them a few minutes later, then Xander reappeared, carrying several large pizza boxes.

“Yes please,” Buffy said. Spike took a slice and held it while she took large bites. “Spike feeding me pizza,” she laughed, “I’ve had this dream before.” Spike smiled happily and brushed the hair from her face and Buffy thought this might be one of the happiest moments of her life. He couldn’t leave her now, not when everything was so perfect.

There was blood in the kitchen and Dawn had to force him to go drink. Angel had already drunk his fill and had gone for a shower. Spike returned to the lounge, a mug of warm blood in his hand, and asked Willow if he could talk to her in the kitchen. Buffy knew he would be asking about Connor and hoped there was good news. She wished Spike felt he could talk about Connor in front of her. Once again, the weight of her incredible guilt crashed down on her. 

When Spike reappeared, he’d washed his face and the fresh blood was helping his bruises heal. “Tell me,” she said as he joined her on the sofa.

“He’s improving. He should be fine,” he sounded guarded and didn’t look at her. 

“That’s great,” Buffy said, squeezing his hand as best she could. She hated that talking about Connor in front of her made him uncomfortable. Connor was going to recover and Spike should be happy, ecstatic even, but he was so afraid of hurting her he pretended an aloofness he couldn’t possibly feel. He was denying his emotions because of her, twisting himself out of shape to please her and one day he’d come to resent her for it. He’d come to wonder what could have been with Connor, she was sure of it, and he’d blame her for being selfish, taking what she wanted because she could. She loved him so much but she knew he couldn’t stay. 

When Angel returned from his shower, Buffy asked Spike to carry her to the bathroom so she could get cleaned up. He carried her with ease and placed her on the edge of the bath while he ran the water.

“I’ll let you get undressed,” he said uncertainly.

“I think you should go,” she said, gripping the edge of the bath, her voice cracking and hoping she’d be able to get through this conversation without crying.

“Yeah, that’s just what I was doing,” he said, frowning at her. Then he saw the sadness on her face and realised what she’d meant. “Why?” he asked quietly, shutting the bathroom door.

“Because he needs you. Because you love him.” She watched Spike’s face change, first anger then acceptance.

“I love you,” he said, but it sounded such a small thing, a nothing. She had half hoped, half dreaded he’d argue with her and try to persuade her he loved her more. She wouldn’t have believed him and it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. 

“You and me Slayer, we have bloody terrible timing,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, the strain telling. 

“I missed you so much Spike, but I was just being selfish,” the tears came then, and she was grateful he didn’t try and comfort her. “I think I was trying to prove something you know?” she said, gulping back her sobs. She buried her face in her hands, too ashamed to look at him. She heard the door open, then click closed and he was gone. 

She took a long bath and crawled into bed. She assumed Spike had told them she was going for a nap as no one came to find her. She could hear them talking and laughing downstairs and she lay listening, wondering if Spike felt as miserable as she did. She heard Dawn and Fred come upstairs, talking about Fred borrowing some clothes to travel in. Eventually she heard Dawn open another portal and Spike, Angel and Fred were gone.


	19. Chapter 19

It took Buffy two days to fully recover physically. Her bones mended and her bruises vanished and a casual observer wouldn’t have guessed she’d been brutally murdered only days before. But under her skin, deep down in her strong bones and perfect muscles, she felt as battered and broken as she’d ever felt. She knew she’d done the right thing by telling Spike to go, but knowing gave her no comfort.

She tried to keep busy by helping around the house and taking care of her nephew and niece. She ran for miles every day, coming back exhausted. She volunteered at the women’s centre and in the evenings, she would patrol, mostly alone but sometimes with Willow or Xander. She’d get to bed around 2am and lay staring at the ceiling, only sleeping fitfully until the alarm went off at 7am.

By the end of that week Buffy realised she could never be busy enough and Spike was always just a stray thought away. She’d lay in bed at night and go over the things he’d said, searching out new meanings in old phrases. She’d berate herself for telling him to go, arguing with herself that she should have fought to keep him. She’d think about making love with him and imagine his passion and his gentleness and how easily he excited her. Her own finger moved between her legs, imagining Spike was the one touching her.

She would look for him during her nightly patrols and she’d tense whenever the phone rang, thinking it was him. Every email was scanned for any news, though she couldn’t bring herself to ask after him directly, afraid of what she might learn. Being constantly on edge was draining and she knew she had to get back to some semblance of normality and that meant going back to Cleveland, if only to box up her life there and decide what she was going to do next. 

“I’m going to miss you so much,” Dawn said tearfully when Buffy said she was leaving. She reassured her that she’d be back for Christmas. “Not a flying visit,” Dawn ordered. “You have to stay for at least a week. No, two. You have to stay for Christmas and New Year’s.” Buffy promised she would.

Buffy was sure that Xander was secretly happy to get her out of the house, but he denied it almost convincingly. Willow offered to go to Cleveland with her, to help her pack up her stuff, but Buffy declined the offer. 

“The mature thing is to ask for help,” Willow commented.

“It is if you need help, but I don’t, honestly Will.” She and Willow were closer than they had been in a long time, but Buffy felt she was turning the page to a new chapter of her life and she needed to do it by herself.

She rang Giles, who sounded so happy to hear from her, she felt guilty for leaving their relationship unattended for so long. “Oh Buffy,” he stammered, “of course you must stay with us. We have plenty of room and Liv will be so happy to see you. If you decide to stay, there’s plenty of work to be done. We’re currently contending with Wolfram and Hart. Apparently, one of their employees has broken their ‘in perpetuity’ contract and they’re not happy.”

She wasn’t sure if her move to London would be permanent or just a vacation, but she felt good about her decision. Moving to Cleveland had been a backwards step. She’d returned to a hellmouth because it was a life she knew and understood and it was easy. Moving to London felt positive, a step forward into something new and exciting. She’d rebuilt her bridges and now she wanted to cross them. 

She flew to Cleveland the following day and was met by Chrissie, the slayer she shared her apartment with. “Am I glad to see you.” Chrissie hugged Buffy tightly and picked up her suitcase. “There have been sightings of zompires around the Gardens.” She sounded excited because zompires were rare nowadays and not many of the newer Slayers had seen them in real life. It didn’t surprise Buffy that they were seen around the Botanical Gardens, as that was the site of the Cleveland hellmouth.

“It’s like I’ve never been gone,” Buffy joked. She’d already rung Chrissie and explained she would only be returning to pack up her belongings. Even if her move to London wasn’t permanent, she wouldn’t return to Cleveland any time soon. “I’ve got a moving company coming to take my big stuff into storage. I’ll only need to pack the little things, then I’ll be gone. My flight’s booked for Wednesday 2pm.”

“Plenty of time for some zompire dusting,” Chrissie laughed. Buffy suspected Chrissie would enjoy being the lead Slayer in Cleveland and not have to live under her shadow any longer. 

Buffy spent the rest of the day packing up her belongings. She had a pile of assorted items for storage, a pile for Goodwill and a much smaller pile of things she was taking to London with her. This was mainly clothes, but also some jewellery and photos, mostly sentimental things. Chrissie had her pick of Buffy’s clothes, and the two girls spent the afternoon giggling at some of Buffy’s fashion choices.

The doorbell rang at 8:30 and Chrissie went to open it, thinking it was the pizza they’d ordered. On the doorstep stood a guy she’d never seen before and he wasn’t delivering pizza. He had white blonde hair and bright blue eyes and Chrissie smiled, as she always did at handsome men.

“Is Buffy here?” he asked in the coolest English accent she’d ever heard. 

“And who are you?” she asked, hand on hip but a smile on her face.

Buffy appeared in the hallway before Spike could answer. The two stared at each other and Chrissie looked from one to the other and suddenly felt incredibly awkward, realising there was something between the two that she didn’t fully understand.

She edged past Buffy, giving her a wide-eyed stare and hissing, “We’re going talk about this later.” Buffy didn’t hear her. She saw and heard nothing but the man standing in front of her. She was hyper focused in a way she’d never experienced before. It felt like the world had tilted and she and Spike were the only ones there, everyone else had slipped away.

He spoke, but she didn’t hear him. She put her hand on the hallway wall, steadying herself. She felt dizzy and nauseous and it took several moments till the silence ebbed and she could hear muffled sounds coming from the street and the other apartments. The world had righted itself, and she let her hand slip from the wall. 

“Come in Spike,” Buffy said, not sure where she found the words. He stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him. 

She took him into her bedroom, closed the door and leaned her back against it. “I’m not going to make a run for it pet, sit down,” Spike smiled, gesturing to the bed and looking around the room. Buffy moved two boxes onto the floor, and pushed a plastic sack of old clothes into the corner.

“Packing up?” he asked, lifting the lid of a third cardboard box that sat on her dressing table. It contained books, some of them his, ones she couldn’t bring herself to part with. She wondered if he’d recognise them and how he’d feel knowing she’d kept them.

“Yeah, I’ve had enough of hellmouths for a while,” she replied, sitting on the corner of her unmade bed. “I’m going to London.” 

“Yeah?” he said nodding, “good for you.” His face had a look of intense concentration and Buffy could tell he wasn’t really listening to her.

Spike paced the room nervously. His hand kept going to the pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket. Buffy took pity on him and opened the window. “You can smoke Spike, it’s ok,” she said, returning to her spot on the bed. He thanked her, lit a cigarette and took a long calming drag.

“I thought my life was good,” he said, staring out of the window. The sun had set and the evening was warm, yet Buffy shivered and pulled a crumpled cotton throw around her shoulders. He turned to her, his face a mask of sadness. “I was doing the right thing, fighting evil, living quietly. I was trying to prove I could do it without you. But I missed you so fucking much Buffy. It was like I’d lost myself. There’s no me without you.” He walked back to the box of books and took one out, running his hand over the cover. 

“I kept them all,” Buffy said, nodding to the books. “I had to keep a part of you, because there’s no me without you either.” She wondered if she sounded foolish, words not being her forte, but the look of bewildered gratitude on Spike’s face made her certain he finally understood how much she needed him.

“I’d seen Connor, but I didn’t know him.” He put the book down. “Well, that’s not true. I knew his type you could say, strong, confident, brave and a bloody know it all. Reminded me of you of course. I can see that now.” He sat on the edge of the dressing table and Buffy still felt the usual jolt of shock at his lack of reflection in the mirror above the table. “I didn’t want to meet anyone else, didn’t want love or romance or any of that bollocks. Not if I couldn’t have you,” he looked down, sounding embarrassed. 

Buffy gulped and her stomach churned and she couldn’t sit still. She imagined his loneliness and his need for solace, and she wished to god she hadn’t put him through any of it. She moved to close the window and lean her back against it

“Once he left hospital, I told him about us.” Buffy felt her breath become shallow, still unsure what he was going to say, not sure she wanted to hear. “He was angry. We said some things. He knows I didn’t want it to be like this. He knows I’ve always loved you.” Buffy could see how hard this was for him but there was nothing she could do. She wanted to go to him, but he looked so despondent she was afraid he’d push her away.

“Connor’s gone with Angel to Ireland,” he said eventually. “Angel’s showing him where he came from. His Irish heritage.” There was a mocking tone to his voice and he shook his head, as if the idea was ridiculous. “Not been there in three hundred years and murdered his whole family, but ‘Heritage’.” He made it sound as if there were quotes around ‘heritage’ and it made Buffy smile. That sounded exactly like Angel, everything a dramatic aria, nothing small or ordinary. 

“When we talked…” he began, but stopped, not able to put his thoughts into words. He sighed and began again. “Connor needs Angel far more than he ever needed me. I think I was just his route to get to him,” he looked down at his scuffed boots, sighed and said unflinchingly, “No, that’s just my pitiful attempt to justify myself. He loved me and I loved him, but we both loved other people more.” He laughed sourly, “Unless that’s more pathetic justification.” He threw his head back and took in a deep breath, letting it go slowly as if clearing his head. He’s so incredibly human Buffy thought. He looked at her, his face set in a determined fashion. “I love you and that’s all there is Buffy.” 

She went to him then and moulded herself against him for a moment, then took his hands. She led him to the bed and pulled him down with her. She cradled him loosely in her arms, stroking his back and feeling him shiver from her touch. “If you send me away, if you tell me to go,” he said, wrapping himself around her, “I’ll go. But I won’t go back.”

“I don’t want you to go,” she whispered, her voice hoarse with emotion, making him look up into her smiling, tearful face, “I never wanted you to go.” She stroked his face and he kissed her tenderly, as if she were a fragile thing. 

“I will always, always love you,” he promised, “sorry that I hurt you, it wasn’t meant.”

“No Spike,” Buffy shook her head emphatically. “It’s me who hurt you. It’s me who didn’t listen. It’s me who pushed you away. God if I could take it all back…” 

“Shush,” he said, his hand slipping under her t-shirt, his fingers drawing patterns on her taut stomach, “it doesn’t matter now luv. I’m home and we can fight about it later.” His questing fingers moved toward her breasts and Buffy didn’t want to fight anymore either.


End file.
